Another Story Must Begin
by loonie lupin
Summary: Montreuil-sur-Mer. An old gypsy woman curses Javert. Everything changes but there are some things which are destined to happen, one way or another… (story now completely beta-read).
1. Prologue

**Title : **Another Story Must Begin…

**Author : **loonie_lupin (ff. net) – Lisapahud (ao3)

**Fandom : **Les Misérables (book + 2012)

**Characters/pairings :** Valjean, Javert, Cosette, Marius (+ appearance by others)

**Résumé : **Montreuil-sur-Mer. An old gypsy woman curses Javert. Everything changes but there are some things which are destined to happen, one way or another…

**Disclaimers : **All recognizable characters and settings are property of their creators. Nothing belongs to me. I'm only playing around.

**Notes : **The French version of this fic is already up under the title of 'Ici commence une autre histoire'. If you're able to read French, I would suggest going to that version, as it is my first language and, therefore, it is probably better…

As this story is already written in its entirety, I'll post a few chapters a day. I just have to proof read them once again before posting…. If some mistakes remains if you mean more than one mistake, you write that without an s) and you see them, don't hesitate to keep me informed.

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Another Story Must Begin…**

**Prologue**

Sounds were the first element which came back to him. He could hear people in the distance, children mostly, being unruly and loud and Javert had half a mind to go there and find the parents to tell them off about it and demand they make their children behave, lest they wanted to be arrested for noise pollution. Of course, it may have very well been his headache talking.

He felt as bad as the first and only time he had allowed himself to indulge in too much alcohol. The wakeup call had been as bad as today and had prevented him to perform his duties to the best of his abilities, or so he felt. Therefore, he had sworn off getting drunk. Now, he only authorized himself one glass of wine, here and there, not regularly and only if the occasion called for it.

With that in mind, he could say with absolute certainty that he hadn't been drunk the night before and that what he was feeling right now was most certainly not a hangover.

He tried opening his eyes and, even though the light blinded him, he was able to adapt quickly as he was protected against the harshness of the sun by the immense wooden boxes all around him. It didn't take Javert long to work out that he was on the docks. He had, however, no idea of how he had come to sleep in such a place as this.

The very first action to take, however, was not to wonder about how this miserable situation came about but to hurry going back to his lodgings and change clothes before anyone stumbled upon him. His reputation in town would be forever changed and not for the better. He rapidly sat up and, not caring about the slight bout of vertigo which took over him or the flash of pain throbbing in his shoulder, he climbed to his feet. This was when he realized something was definitely wrong with the situation, something more than his apparent need to take a nap on the docks.

These boxes were not supposed to be that big. Or, more important he wasn't supposed to be that small. As his perspective once on his feet had shifted from the usual, he looked down towards himself and realized, with a sense of detached horror, that his body was now the body of a child, a small child of about six of age, if he cared to remember his own youth and the rate at which he had grown.

He must be dreaming. That was the very first, very understandable, thought that crossed his mind. However, the still sore state of his head, as well as the piercing pain in his shoulder which seemed to come from what appeared to be a knife wound – small but deep – negated this line of reasoning. He wouldn't be in so much pain if he really was in a dream.

Javert, as the realization came to him that he was indeed, at the present moment, a child felt the beginning of a panic creep into his chest. He closed his eyes to help battling it off and pushed it back down as it was clearly not the moment to let such pitiful emotions compromise him and prevent him from thinking clearly about how this condition came to be. The tide of panic receded and he reopened his eyes, calm and collected. His mind wandered back to the night before.

He had headed to the docks after having heard a persistent rumor that a clan of gypsies had established their camp there. The honest citizens of Montreuil were distrustful of them – Javert would have been the last one to blame them for it – and there had already been several accusations of thievery. Considering this, he could not possibly allow them to stay there any longer. Those who had stolen from the citizens would be spending some quality time in his cells and the rest would have to disperse or face the same fate, on the charge of having refused to follow an order given by an agent of the law.

What had seemed like a very simple evening had taken another course when he had found the gypsies extremely uncooperative. The tone of the confrontation had quickly escalated. His backups had drawn swords and a skirmish, which he now realized he could not remember the details of, had begun. As there was now no sign of the clan around the docks, and the place looked exactly as it had before they had set foot in town, he was pretty certain that his police force had prevailed. He could not, for the life of him, remember how that came to be.

However, what he could remember in vivid colors was the face of an old woman, maybe seventy or eighty of age, with sad eyes and an air of quiet wisdom about her. She had looked at him, not in anger as most of her people did, not in supplication, but in pity. Her pity hadn't been directed towards herself, though, but towards him and, at the time, he had not been able to comprehend it. To be fair, he hadn't cared about it at all. Maybe if he had, he could have avoided being the recipient of what must have amounted to a curse.

He had seen her lips move, forming a kind of chant, but he hadn't been able to understand the words. Her language, which had once been his so long ago, was now full of mysteries to him, his mind only vaguely recalling the simplest words. The last sentence she had uttered, though, he could remember it being in French.

"_You need to learn how to live in a world not made of black and white but countless shades of grey or else, you will be lost forevermore."_

It was the very last thing he could recall before his wakeup call and it made absolutely no sense to him. Of course, he was aware that, far from the tarot-reading the gypsies used on unsuspecting citizens, there was a more tangential power within their reach, one that could accomplish real feats but that they rarely used, especially in front of strangers, for fear of being persecuted by those who didn't understand. Had they decided to make an exception in his case, or had that woman somehow realized he already knew?

It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was to find a way to reverse the spell because what exactly was he supposed to do with this one and only sentence graved in his mind? To him, it was senseless and he knew the only way he would be able to become himself once more was to find that old woman and force her to cancel her curse.

With that goal in mind, Javert began his trek back to the centre of the town, intending to find traces of where the clan had disappeared to. It was only after several incidents with people almost knocking him over – because who cared about a street kid, a _gamin_ – that the inspector comprehended the reality of the situation: he couldn't go back to the station and use the police resource to find these people because who, in their right mind, would believe him to be Inspector Javert?

He quickly stopped his progression towards the station and flattened his back against the wall, making room for those who walked resolutely around him, ignoring him as he had so often ignored the little kids flocking around in the streets, with nowhere else to go, and closed his eyes.

What was he going to do now? How could he, on his own, find these people? And who would hire a six-year-old child for work, to permit him to earn enough money to keep himself fed in the meantime? These were all good questions for which he had no answer. He hadn't liked his childhood the first time around and he really didn't think he would like it any better the second time. All he knew for now was that he could not stay there. He had to find a secluded place to think in peace, away from the bustling people around him.

He opened his eyes again, intending to run to a shelter, but stopped before he even started. There, clear as day, a dozen meters or so away, his back to him, stood Monsieur le Maire Madeleine, giving alms to the poor of the town. The good mayor, strong enough to lift a cart, limping so distinctly, but so discreet that none of Javert's suspicions could be proved, one way or another. Javert found himself almost smiling, a determined glint entering his eyes.

Maybe this curse could wait a bit before being lifted. He had, after all, all the time in the world to find the gypsies now. Besides, he had no idea where to even begin looking so he would take the time to think about it before acting. In the meantime, if he could do something else he had wanted to for quite some time now but was unable to act upon in his official manner, then why not take the chance?

Madeleine had always kept some distance between them, as if afraid of what he would find, and Javert had never been able to verify if his suspicions of him being Jean Valjean were true because of it. However, now that Javert was not an inspector but just another _gamin_ what reason would Valjean have to be suspicious? Now Javert could get close without Madeleine being on his guard. Maybe this curse was the way to get Valjean to face justice once again.

**Note** : I was inspired by a few prompts from the kinkmeme, asking for de-aged Javert. I haven't used the other details, so I'm not posting this as an answer (as it would not correspond to the anons' wishes) but I wanted to say the idea came from there.


	2. Book I: Valjean Chapter I

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**BOOK 1: VALJEAN**

**Chapter I**

Javert had decided not to act too rashly. He had taken the rest of the day to plan how he would go about to discover Madeleine's secret. After all, simply because he was not the feared inspector anymore, it didn't mean he could just waltz to the man and ask him outright any question he may have. For once, there was no way Madeleine, if he really was Valjean, would admit it to anyone, even someone who was not of authority, not after taking so many precautions to hide. Secondly, it was most certainly not how a street urchin would behave.

No, he couldn't actually go to Madeleine for any reason. Madeleine would have to come to him and, for that to happen, Javert would actually have to get noticed, more than as just one more _gamin_ begging on the streets for a few coins.

The solution, the only one he could see working without too many drawbacks was easy, extremely easy, to act out, if completely distasteful to him. However, it was the only one he could see would work and it wasn't as if he had never been forced to do something he didn't like when he had gone under cover. No matter how hard he had tried, there had been some times – very few it was true – where he had to act the part of an outlaw.

He had first thought about putting himself in danger, one way or another. There was no question Madeleine would come to the rescue. That was simply who he was. The moment he saw the life of a child in jeopardy, he would act and save him, that much Javert knew. However, he also knew that such a plan contained inherent risks. Madeleine, no matter his strength, was just a man and it may very well be that he wouldn't be able to rescue him or, at least, arrive too late. Javert wouldn't be capable to investigate if he was recovering from a near-fatal wound. He had, therefore, discarded that plan quickly.

The second plan, the only other he had thought of, was much simpler, less risky and would probably work just as well, as long as he planned it at the right time, in the right place.

He would go to a shop – a bakery, more precisely, because if Madeleine was really Valjean, then it would add to the possibility of arousing his pity – and try to rob it. And he did mean try because his plan was, of course, to get caught because he wasn't able to slip away. After all, he wasn't doing this because he wanted something to eat or because he wanted to actually _steal_.

He would run. Of course, he would run. After all, that was what any street kid did when he got caught doing something wrong. The baker would follow him. He knew that, had seen it happen many times, especially the baker he planned to rob. He knew these people, their most likely reactions and which one of them would suit him best as an unwitting ally.

So the baker would run after him and Javert would make sure he got caught. He would have to be careful not to run too quickly and, yet, not slowly enough to arouse suspicion. The little things were the most important ones. He couldn't have people wonder why a thief would want to get caught in such a manner.

The man was known for his quick and difficult temper so Javert had no doubt that he would make a scene, not only by screaming after him as he ran out but also, once he was caught, by berating him loudly. The only downside may be that, should Madeleine be far enough and take some time to arrive, he would probably receive a blow or two. Then again, it may not be such a downside but, actually, a point in his favour if he got slightly hurt. An adult thief who got hit was said to have it coming. A child, however, was more likely to inspire pity. He would have hated it had he really been a child but, now, he would welcome it as it would no doubt help him in his plan.

Once this plan was made in his mind, Javert decided that, for things to go smoothly, he would have to be better rested when it went down. Since that would not be before the next day, as the right time to act would be when Madeleine walked his usual tour of the downtown – and that would be in the beginning of the afternoon – he had several hours to spare.

It would be better for him to sleep. It had been so long since he had slept on the street, for anything else than an undercover operation and, when that was the case, he was usually only pretending to sleep. Now, he had nothing to do but surrender to the call that he felt more intently than he could ever remember.

Of course, even with all the memories of his adult life still in his mind, he had to keep in mind he had the body of a child, a body more easily tired. He hadn't thought of it much during his initial discovery but he was now beginning to realize that he would have to be extremely careful not to forget that his physical form had changed beyond the obvious superficiality.

He found a little corner in a deserted building. He had come and arrested people several times in this place and it was now, after his last raid, mostly uninhabited, even by the vermin of the streets. He was cold but there was no other choice. There was no other place where he would be warmer or where he would be welcomed in without any money in his pocket, neither would there be any place that would feed him. Yet, he could begin to feel the claws of hunger in his stomach.

He had been running around all day long, since the moment he had woken up on the docks, and he had had nothing to eat because he refused to steal – except for his plan – but he could wait. He had not always had the chance to eat whenever he felt hunger before, his job as an inspector didn't always permit it, but he had trained his body to go on even if he felt sick to the stomach. Another failing of a child's body was the hunger hurting more.

He closed his eyes to try and forget his empty and shivering body but it has harder than he would have thought. The pangs of hunger were almost giving him a feeling of nausea and he felt tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He wasn't going to let them fall, though. He was not a child, Javert thought furiously, not a child who could not control his emotion, who could not help himself wallowing in self-pity. No, he was Inspector Javert and he was the master of his own feelings.

Slowly, still thinking about what tomorrow would bring in an attempt of forgetting for a while where he was and what he felt, he fell asleep and, as Morpheus finally claimed him to his kingdom, he was mercifully unaware of the single tear slipping from his right eye, leaking onto his cheek to finally drop on the ground, where he had made his bed.

There was a single moment, when Javert woke up the next day, where he thought it had all been a dream, where he thought he was waking up in his own lodgings, ensconced in his own bed, and would go on to walk to the police station to begin his work day. However that moment barely lasted for a fraction of a second, before he heard the bustling of the busy town around him, smelled the foul air of the disaffected building and felt his stomach churn so badly he had to get on his knees, retching, but unable to bring up anything solid. Then he understood it had all been reality and he had a plan to put into motion.

He hadn't realized he would feel so badly, so lightheaded, and he was beginning to question whether or not he would be able to run after taking the bread. It would be difficult, he knew, but he tried his best to ignore the hunger, to do the same he would as an adult and think about the goal at the end of the road, which was confronting a notorious criminal about his past. He knew it, he knew that Madeleine was Valjean and now he would be able to prove it and this had to be more than enough to keep him going, even under such circumstances.

Eventually, he was at the right place and just had to wait for the right time. It was in moments like this that he could feel thankful for the fact that Madeleine had an extremely predictable schedule. It would have been hard to time it right otherwise. As time passed by, the hour of fate closing in, Javert braced himself for what he had to do. After a lifetime of resisting any urge, any instinct ingrained in his genes to steal, like either of his parents would have done on a whim at the slightest occasion, he had to force himself to commit this regrettable act.

Finally, the murmurs of pleas and gratitude, of cheers and tears that always accompanied Madeleine wherever he went began and Javert knew he had to act quickly.

He ran to the bakery, unnoticed, an easy feat, an ability he had learnt a lifetime ago and that was still present after the long years fighting for people to notice his presence when he wanted them to and grabbed a slice of bread, the very first one he could reach. He made a show to try and be discreet but, when the moment came to cross the threshold on his way out, he made sure to make some noise – as if by accident – to attract the baker's attention.

It didn't fail.

"Thief!" the baker bellowed, leaving his counter in a rush and Javert ran, as fast as he dared to not to lose the man. "Come back with my bread, you little vermin!"

People got out of the way for him, most of them way too sympathetic to his plight to want to stop him from running away. It disgusted him but, at the same time, it was for the best at the moment. He was running in the direction he knew Madeleine would be, the man still yelling abuse at him.

Eventually, the baker caught up to him and Javert made a show to be breathless, even as a dizzy spell overcame him. The exercise, after so long without eating, was making him weak. Still, he had a role to play.

"I'm sorry," he cried out as the man grabbed him roughly by the arms and he knew that, while as an adult the grasp would have been nothing, he knew he would have dark bruises upon his skin in a few hours' time. "I'm sorry. I'm just so hungry, M'sieur."

The words came easily. He had heard them thrown his way so many times whenever he had arrested beggars on the streets for their crimes. The emotion was harder to manage but the words themselves did not ring so false in his ears as the hunger made him faint.

"That's no excuse to rob, boy. You're going to be in trouble now. You're coming with me to the station and explain your little sob story to Monsieur l'Inspecteur. See if he's moved."

The tone was mocking and, for the first time since the beginning of the confrontation Javert felt anger. He bristled. The words were right, but the baker had no business taunting whoever he dragged to the station. Javert may not have showed any mercy to the people who tried to move him with their story, but never had he mocked them either. He was fair and just. Yet, this man was using his name for his derision and it didn't sit well with him. Still, he couldn't think about that now. He had a part to play.

"No, please M'sieur. I don't want to go to jail," he pleaded, trying and succeeding in calling tears to his eyes. "Please, I won't do it again, I promise! I promise!"

He was nearly screaming now. People would think it was in fear, fear of what would happen to him should the baker actually drag him to the station, but it was no more than a ploy to attract Madeleine. He was shaken by his captor and he had to bit his lips not to cry out loud, by reflex this time, as the wound he hadn't been able to tend to the night before was jarred roughly. He could feel a new trickle of blood sliding down his arm, the loss not helping with his dizziness.

If Madeleine didn't arrive soon, Javert would probably be taken to the station unconscious, he mused absent-mindedly.

"What is going on here? What are you doing to this child?" came Madeleine's voice even as Javert began to doubt having planned correctly.

Immediately the grip on his arm released enough that, while he wasn't able to get free, the pain in his shoulder seemed to abate somewhat.

"I caught him stealing from me, Monsieur le Maire," the baker accused in an unforgiving tone, but at a normal volume, not daring to raise his voice at the mayor of the town.

Madeleine observed the situation for a minute, taking in the bread in Javert's hand, the baker's thunderous expression and hand around the boy's arm and the child looking at the ground. The way to handle the situation seemed very clear to him and he fished some coins from his pocket, more than enough to pay for what Javert had stolen.

"Here, Monsieur, for your merchandise and your troubles. I do believe it is unnecessary to disturb the police force for such a little problem," Madeleine said in a tone that let everyone know that they should do what he said.

The baker looked just about ready to protest but didn't dare in front of such an august personage. Madeleine didn't seem to notice or, if he did, pretended not to. Something told Javert that the second possibility was the right one as he continued talking.

"You should go back to your shop now, before someone takes advantage of your continued absence."

Javert had to give credits to Madeleine. That was, indeed, very well-played. After that, the baker did not say another word, except to take leave of the mayor and went away quickly, leaving the crowd to disperse around them now that the scene was over. Javert could be thankful for that, as he didn't wish for an audience during the rest of his performance.

He had kept his eyes trained to the ground, a gesture that would be one of the two ways street urchins would react in such an instance as this. The second one would have been a defiant stare at the man however, as he was trying to incite sympathy in his vis-à-vis, it wouldn't be to his benefice. He saw Madeleine crouch in front of him and, finally, he let his eyes rise to meet the man's for the very first time since he had been transformed.

He could understand why all the poor, all the beggars, felt safe in Madeleine's presence. The look in his eyes was a far cry from the Valjean he once knew – he had to admit it had always been his eyes that had left in his mind a sliver of doubt about his accusation. He swallowed as he let himself be scrutinized by the kind stare.

"Tell me, child, what is your name?"

"I called Etienne," Javert answered promptly, having already decided beforehand on an alias he had used more than once in his career.

It wasn't his real name, as he didn't have any other name than Javert, none that he knew of at least. It didn't matter to him. There had never been, in his life, acquaintance close enough to consider the use of another name. Javert was more than enough for him but absolutely useless in this instance.

"Etienne," Madeleine repeated after him, a tenderness never once directed towards Javert in his voice and the inspector found himself thinking he may have liked for the man to say his real name like this.

He shook himself internally as soon as the thought crossed his mind. This was absurd.

"Eat, child. You look ready to faint."

Javert had to admit, he felt like it too. Considering the bread was paid for anyway, and most handsomely, he didn't have to feel any guilt about it. It would be a waste not to consume it. He began devouring it in earnest, not caring that he was in front of Madeleine.

"Now tell me, where are your parents?" Madeleine continued his interrogation and Javert simply shrugged.

"Don't know. Daddy's in jail somewhere, has always been, and Mommy left a long time ago."

He cringed internally. Those terms were maybe to babyish for a child his age who lived in the street, but the mayor would probably not notice the inconsistencies. He hoped so, at the very least. He had to confess that this was a role he had never taken on before, when he had gone undercover.

"Are you all alone, then?" Madeleine asked again and, one more time, Javert shrugged.

He wasn't able to contain the wince this time around as the motion jarred his wounds once more.

Madeleine, observant to a fault, noticed and his eyes went directly to his injured shoulder. Javert almost took a step back as a big hand settled itself unto the shoulder, gently putting aside the thin fabric and inspecting the cut.

"You're hurt," Madeleine stated, staring in almost-horror at the bad-looking wound on such a young child. "This must be looked after immediately, unless you want an infection."

Javert was very much aware of that but he hadn't had any option for treatment the day before and he considered himself lucky not to be in the throes of a fever just yet.

"Can't afford a hospital, M'sieur," he said softly, hoping that his sorry state would help him ingrain himself in Madeleine's life.

He wouldn't be able to resist extending a helping hand to a bleeding child, would he? Apparently, Javert was correct in his assumption because the words had barely left his mouth that the man was once again on his feet.

This time around, Javert followed the movement with his eyes to continue looking at the mayor's face and was taken aback by his imposing stature. Monsieur Madeleine was far from a small man at the best of time. Whenever he had been in his presence before, Javert had been impressed by his intimidating form. He was hardly a small man himself but it was nothing compared to the bulk of the mayor. He had never realized how striking it would be to a child and he was certain it was only his usually soft expression which would be able to dull the fear he could inspire.

"Tell me Etienne, will you come with me and let me treat your wound at my home?" Madeleine asked and Javert smiled.

As an adult, he wouldn't do so. Indeed, he had so little occasion for smiling he had almost lost the habits completely, even in the rare events that would demand for it. However, as a child, he felt that he should probably get used to answer to kindness in that way. After all, no matter what he may have thought of the mayor at the best of time, what he was showing now to Etienne was kindness, one that he didn't think he would have to repay in any way. Of course, Etienne wouldn't know that.

"I have no way to pay you, M'sieur," Javert continued.

"Even if you did, I wouldn't want you to, child. No one should suffer a wound when it is so easy for his fellow man to heal it."

Javert nodded his head in understanding. Yes, that was the kind of man Madeleine was, at least according to everyone in town. He had to admit that, for the moment, he man was consistent with his reputation. Of course, everything may yet change once they were in his home, away from onlookers. He guessed he would have to wait and see.

"Good," Madeleine smiled at what he took for a positive answer and began walking, a hand outstretched towards him and Javert almost grimaced at what was expected of him.

He could have refused, he knew. After all, most _gamins_ would probably refuse but he had to do everything in his power to get as close to Madeleine as possible, to make sure the man would keep him around and not treat him as he would any other urchin in Montreuil. Therefore, concession had to be made and, no matter how distasteful it seemed to him, it was harmless and his compliance could only help him in his task.

Consequently, with his left hand, unoccupied by the slice of bread he was still eating, he grabbed Madeleine's and let the man lead him towards his home, anticipating whatever element of answer he would find there.


	3. Book I: Valjean Chapter II

******My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter II**

It didn't take so long for the two of them to arrive at Madeleine's home and Javert had to admit he was content about it. He may not have been as hungry now – though he was hardly satiated with only the slice of bread in his stomach – but he was tired as his sleep had been fitful the night before and had not allowed him to rest enough. As a man, he would have borne the fatigue stoically, without much problem. As a child, he felt his legs ready to give in under his little weight.

"Madame Antoinette," Madeleine called as he opened the door and ushered him inside.

An old woman appeared from deeper in the house and Javert assumed it was the housekeeper. Seeing her deference to Monsieur Madeleine, there was no doubt she was in his employ.

"Monsieur le Maire!" the woman exclaimed as soon as she noticed him with a child on his hand. "Who is this child?"

She sounded almost scandalized and Javert could imagine the picture he made: a street urchin in nothing but rags in the house of the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer. However, Madeleine didn't seem to care about it and ignored the tone the woman, Antoinette, used.

"Madame, this is Etienne. He shall be my guest here, for the foreseeable future. Would you please have a bath readied and prepare a room for him to sleep in."

He was gentle, indeed, in the handling of his employee. However, the directness of the order left no doubt he expected to be obeyed without question. He would accept no less and Javert had to admit, he found himself impressed in spite of himself. he knew it was not always easy to be kind and authoritative at the same time. It was one of the reasons he never bothered with kindness himself, but for a house employee, it made things work more fluidly he supposed.

There was still one point that sat strangely with him. He had expected to have his injury tended to, even to be offered a bed for the night, but a bath?

"A bath, Monsieur?" he asked, the words out of his mouth before he even had time to think about it.

Madeleine looked at him and nodded decisively.

"If we're to clean that wound to avoid any possible infection, it would be better for you to take a bath first. I will get you a change of clothes in the meantime. It will avoid any contamination before the wound is covered."

The measure was absolutely unnecessary, Javert knew. With a bandage and a good cleaning of the area around the wound itself, no contamination would happen. It was, however, not something a six-year old child would be expected to know and he had no way of complaining about it to Madeleine. Besides, he had to admit, he would feel better once clean. It had taken him long enough to make his way out of the gutter, he didn't relish the thought of being back down there again.

Waiting for his instructions to be followed by Antoinette, Madeleine led Javert into the kitchen and sat him down at the table, before busying himself with fetching bread and cheese to give to the child to eat. Javert would have refused out of pride, but he was hungry and, thankfully, his role permitted him to take the opportunity to eat whenever it was presented to him. He didn't think to thank the man, as politely as any _gamin_ would, before devouring the offering.

A few minutes later, Madame Antoinette appeared in the doorway, addressing Monsieur Madeleine, without appearing to notice his presence anymore, which Javert thought unsurprising.

"The bath is ready, Monsieur, as is the room," she said simply and was obviously waiting to be dismissed which, apparently, wouldn't be the case just yet.

"Thank you, Madame," the mayor answered before approaching her and dropping some money in her hand. "Will you do me one last favor and get some clothes for Etienne? I know it's outside your usually duty but it would help me a lot."

It was asked in such a way that the old woman could do nothing else but agree without question, a slight blush coloring her cheek and was on her way before they knew it.

"Come Etienne," Madeleine said. "You can finish eating later. For now, I will show you to the bath and leave you on your own for a little while. Just call me whenever you need me or when you're finished and we will see to your wounds. It seems to have more or less stopped bleeding for now."

Javert nodded and left the rest of the bread on the table, without sparing it a backward glance. A real street urchin would have taken it with him, no matter where he was going, on the off chance he wouldn't be able to get back to it later. It didn't even cross Javert's mind before he had already been led outside the kitchen and he didn't think it would do any good to go back. Madeleine would probably not notice the irregularity anyway.

He was led to the bathroom and wondered how things were going to proceed from there. Child or not, he didn't feel like getting undressed in front of the mayor and, even with his earlier reassuring words, he wasn't sure the man would trust him on his own. Thankfully, the man beat him to it before he had to think about a way around it.

"Will you be alright on your own?" Madeleine asked and Javert was almost insulted.

Madeleine really couldn't think that a six-year old child would be unable to take a bath without supervision, could he? Then again, he supposed the way he looked, one could think he´d never had the occasion before. Well, it didn't matter. He wasn't going to debate on it.

"Yes, M'sieur," he answered and couldn't really keep all of his annoyance from his voice.

He would have winced at his faux-pas hadn't Madeleine seemed more amused than anything else by this.

"I'll be downstairs so you can call if you need me for anything. I'll come back with clothes for you as soon as Madame Antoinette is back, alright?"

Javert nodded and let the man get out of the room before he began undressing, shedding his dirty rags with great pleasure, and immerging himself in the water. He couldn't keep from sighing in relief when he felt the warm water on his limbs. After the cold night he had spent curled on a deserted house's floor, his body was aching and the running around hadn't helped at all. Neither had the baker shaking him, he thought, looking down at his arm and seeing the angry impression of fingers left there.

He closed his eyes for a minute, enjoying the moment while he could, putting every thought of Madeleine or Valjean aside, out of his mind, for a while, intending to relax completely. He startled awake when he inhaled a mouthful of water and coughed it up, realizing he had been so tired he had fallen asleep in the bathwater.

Once he had managed to spit out all the water he had unwillingly swallowed, he calmed himself down and decided that, maybe, closing his eyes and relaxing may not have been the best idea unless he fancied the idea of drowning, which he most certainly didn't. However, he still had to clean himself up before he could get out and have a good look at his wound while he was at it. He winced, knowing Madeleine would have to disinfect it well to avoid any infection. It was going to hurt like hell.

He quickly put himself to work and accomplished his task rapidly, rubbing the bar of soap to his skin and rinsing abundantly with the bathwater. He took the opportunity to do the same to his hair, the night he had spent sleeping outside having left enough debris in them to feel uncomfortable. He finished quickly and once he was done, he realized that the water was beginning to cool down. If he couldn't get out any time soon, he would probably lose all the warmth he had gained.

Apparently, Monsieur Madeleine had the power to read his thought because he had barely finished thinking that, that the man was knocking on the door. Javert immersed himself fully in the bath before asking him in. The man deposited the clothing he had acquired on a nearby chair as well as a fluffy-looking towel and told Javert he would be waiting in the room he had his housekeeper prepare for him, with the medical supplies to treat his wound.

Javert nodded and, once the door closed behind Madeleine, he got out of the bath and quickly dried and put on the clothes, not bothering with the shirt just yet, knowing perfectly he would otherwise have to take it back off before the mayor could attend to his wound. Being six had at least the advantage to not make his trek into the house half-clothed an insult to decency.

The room was spare. There was a bed, neatly made, with clean sheets and a pillow, a little wooden table and a closet that seemed to be very small but still big enough for a few pieces of clothing. Javert hadn't really known what to except, but it had certainly been more than that. Madeleine had enough money to decorate his house far more than he did, he knew. Apparently, though, the mayor seemed intent on not using his money for anything else than charity, as if he thought he didn't need the luxury.

Madeleine was sitting on a chair.

"Etienne," he said when he saw him with his shirt still in hand. "Come and sit on the bed while I bandage that shoulder. Can you tell me who did this to you?"

Javert obeyed without a word and looked up. He didn't have to utter a lie to answer that question.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't remember. I... I don't remember much from the night before last – I think that's when it happened but it's like there is a hole in my memories."

Madeleine nodded and went about his business, cleaning the wound efficiently with what looked like alcohol and Javert bit his lips not to cry out. Ashamedly, he felt the sting of tears burn his eyes, not understanding why, as such low pain as this would not usually be enough to make him cry. He had to fight to not let them fall though, today, and he prayed it would be over soon.

Finally, he felt Madeleine apply the bandage on his shoulder and he let out a shuddering breath. A few seconds later, the mayor's hand fell away from his shoulder and he realized the ordeal was finally completely over. He looked up and saw Madeleine with a small smile on his lips.

"You were very brave Etienne," the man congratulated him and Javert felt like scoffing. "It must have hurt very much."

As he finished talking, he brushed a few stray locks of hair that had fallen on his forehead and the gesture had been to unexpected, so totally out of the blue, that it was already over before Javert had the time to react.

"Would you like to go back to the kitchen and finish eating," the mayor asked as he got up. "Or would you prefer to go to sleep for a while first?"

Javert guessed he must not have hidden his exhaustion as well as he had first thought and he had to admit that he could feel the appeal of sleeping for a while now that he was actually sitting on a bed. He didn't think he had the courage to get up and go downstairs just to come back up again later. He still had to know something first.

"I don't know how to pay you," Javert said and he saw Madeleine almost sigh, as if the question irritated him.

"As I told you before, you don't have to pay me for anything but, if you really want to do me a favor, there is something you can do for me," Madeleine began and Javert almost felt a smirk creep on his face, thinking that he would finally have something on the mayor.

What would this man ask of a street child? Would he ask him to steal, to spy on the police maybe as it was not that uncommon for a criminal to use _gamins_ for tasks such as this, as they could go by unnoticed with much more ease?

"Yes?" Javert asked with anticipation.

"Promise me you will never steal again," Madeleine said and Javert had almost answered immediately that he would do it, not bothering to register what was said before it caught up to him.

He was left speechless.

He couldn't have heard that right, could he? Because if the man was really who he suspected him to be, if that man was actually Jean Valjean, he couldn't have asked the child he had taken in to promise him that. That would be absolutely unthinkable. However he wasn't deaf and he knew he had heard right.

"What?" was the answer which passed his lips before he had time to actually think about it.

"Don't steal again. If you're hungry, I do understand. Really, I do. But stealing... you'll throw your life away. You're so young. There're so many possibilities for you but not if the police catches you and throws you in jail. There won't be anything left for you if you do that."

That was almost as good as a confession for Javert. It spoke volumes that the man knew how many consequences there could be and the tone he used, that wistful, melancholic tone, told Javert that it wasn't something abstract, something he had heard talked about, but personal experience.

However, the discourse he held made Javert pause. It was the very last thing he would have expected from the man he thought was Jean Valjean. He just nodded in answer, to say yes, he understood – mostly because he could see Madeleine was expecting an answer – but it was mechanical and he didn't know if the man in front of him could tell.

"You're lucky my inspector wasn't there this afternoon," Madeleine continued, unaware of Javert's inner turmoil regarding his previous statement and the startle that accompanied this one. "I'm not sure I would have been able to convince him not to arrest you."

He hadn't expected Madeleine to speak of him, or to use such a possessive adjective to talk about him, but he couldn't help wanting to hear more, couldn't help his curiosity about what the man really thought of him. If Madeleine was Jean Valjean, he must have a lot to say about him and it could very well help him decide if he was right or wrong.

"Your inspector?" Javert prompted, adopting an expression of innocent inquiry.

"You're new in Montreuil, aren't you?" Madeleine remarked, amused by his little guest.

Javert realized that this was probably the one and only plausible explanation for the fact that he didn't know... himself. After all, he had somewhat of a reputation.

"Inspector Javert. He's extremely strict in his upholding of the law but he's a good man... a just man. I just wish that, sometimes, he knew how to temper his judgment with mercy. But I know it's simply not his way."

There was nothing Javert could say to that description, even if he was in a position to do so. It was an apt one, though he wasn't sure about being called a good man by someone he suspected of being a convict in disguise. It seemed strange, somehow, but it did put some doubt in his mind about his suspicion, as did the way Madeleine talked of him, as if he was... worried. Could it be true?

"Why are you worried?" Javert asked, his curiosity taking over.

He berated himself internally, not certain if it would feel natural for the child he was pretending to be, to be so perceptive about Madeleine's state of mind.

Javert had gotten used to observe the man for so long, so closely, that he was able to read any passing emotion of his face, unless he concealed himself especially from him – as he did most of the time. However, for any passerby, he wasn't sure it would be the case.

Madeleine lifted his eyebrow, surprised by the insight the child was showing.

"I guess you've got to know how to read people when you're out on the street," he stated, somewhat sadly that such ability would be required and Javert was relieved about the explanation given to him by his own quarry.

"You don't want to go to the wrong person," Javert explained briefly. "I learnt quickly to see what people felt at any time! It's easier to avoid trouble that way!" he continued, as if bragging about his accomplishment and he saw the barest hint of a smile on Madeleine's face.

At least, he had succeeded in keeping the man from being suspicious, even if he hadn't had his explanation just yet but he didn't relent and kept staring at Madeleine, as if urging him to tell him why.

"You're not going to let that go?" the mayor asked, rhetorically, before sighing. "I'm probably worried for nothing but the inspector seems to have completely vanished without a trace and I can't help feeling something's wrong. Usually if one of his investigations keeps him from being able to meet me at the convened time, he makes sure to tell me first. I admit I would feel better knowing he was safe."

Javert nodded because that was what a child would do faced with such an explanation. A child wouldn't know what to say, except maybe some platitude but he knew that urchins were far too jaded to fall for this kind of reassuring nonsense coddled children liked so much. For his part, he wouldn't know what to say even if he was still an adult.

Was it really possible that the mayor was worried about his absence? The man was right that Javert would never leave his post and fail in his responsibility to meet with Madeleine without telling him why. It was simply something he couldn't abide by. However, he would never have dreamed that the man would feel anything but relief about his absence, considering that he seemed to have realized that Javert was watching him like a hawk, especially since the incident with old Fauchelevent and his cart.

"But that's enough," Madeleine interrupted the conversation and his tone left room for no discussion, even if Javert had been so inclined, which to be fair, he was not. "Go to bed and sleep, alright. We will take the days as they come."

With that, Madeleine opened the covers to allow Javert to crawl in. He hadn't been tucked in since... since never, he supposed. That was a new one for him, one thing he had never expected to happen in a million years but, as he cuddled into the sheets and Madeleine put the covers around him, making sure he was entirely surrounded, he couldn't help feeling he had missed out on something during his childhood. That was the last thought that crossed his mind as his exhaustion caught up with him and he was asleep before he even heard Madeleine's whispered 'Goodnight'.

Javert came back to consciousness gradually. It was a change from his last wakeup call. He was warm, the mattress under him was soft and there was a blessed silence all around him. He stayed quiet and still for a few moments, listening intently around to hear whether or not anyone was already awake in the house. After a while, he assumed that the answer was no.

It was still dark outside but, considering the fact that they were already well into autumn, it didn't mean all that much. However, knowing he had gone to bed in the afternoon and not at night, he assumed it was now extremely early in the morning. He had never slept too long normally and he figured that the only employee Monsieur Madeleine seemed to keep around in his house was probably at her own home, not having come to work just yet.

That was a good thing. It meant that, if he was careful enough not to make any noise, he could probably investigate a bit in the house while Madeleine was still asleep. Javert threw the covers away from him and carefully put his feet on the floor, wincing at the coldness. He couldn't put on his shoes, first because he had no idea where Madeleine had left them – probably in the entrance hall – and, anyway, it would make too much noise should he have them on his feet.

He couldn't afford to get caught, though he supposed with the way Madeleine seemed to have taken to him, he would probably be able to invent a story that could explain his snooping around without giving the man a reason to actually throw him out. The mayor was almost too naive about the inherent goodness of people, as he had demonstrated yet again by asking Javert not to steal anymore the night before.

Madeleine had believed him immediately when he had said he understood and assumed he had stopped a child from ever doing something like that again. Yes, Javert was never going to steal anything again but, had the man been faced with a real _gamin_, the promise would have meant nothing at all. Madeleine would still have taken it for granted.

Javert padded out of the room, his ears opened wide and straining to hear any possible noise that would suggest the man waking up. For the moment, there was none but he couldn't afford to be caught unaware. He passed what seemed to be Madeleine's room and, while he knew there would probably be some interesting things to be seen in there, he wasn't going to risk it just yet. Maybe if he wasn't able to find anything else, he would try but, for now, he would keep it as a last resort and try the rest of the house first.

There was nothing much to see upstairs, except for the bathroom he had seen the day before – and where there was absolutely nothing of importance – and a small closet that he opened to see what had to be the cleaning supplies. No, he would have to go downstairs if he was hoping to find anything worth the trouble.

Climbing down the stairs as silently as possible, guiding himself with his hand as the obscurity was almost blinding, his mind was reeling about what he was going to find. He had already seen the kitchen and there was nothing worth of notice. His gaze, however, was attracted by a small, adjacent room and his instincts instantly screamed at him that he was looking in the right direction.

He was surprised to find the door unlocked but, then again, the man was almost reckless in his openness. He had to admit it was a good way to pretend he had nothing to hide. He entered the room noiselessly and stayed still for a while, looking at large, letting his eyes get used to the lack of light until he was able to discern the shapes of the objects surrounding him.

He could see a desk, proving that this had to be a study. He would have given up finding anything useful and left the room when the clouds outside parted to give way to the light of the moon. There, in the darkness, the moonlight seemed to reflect on every surface that wasn't made of wood: the mirror, the writing equipment on the desk and, most importantly, a pair of silver candlesticks.

Javert's breath caught in his throat. There was what could almost be a certain proof. The candlestick, gifted – or so it was said – by the Bishop of Digne to Jean Valjean after some people caught the thief red-handed, fleeing in the night after trying to steal from the holy man.

Of course, no report of this was made as the Bishop had claimed to have offered them to his friend, who had dined with him the night before, along with these very candlesticks and there was no one who would dare accuse Monseigneur Bienvenu of lying. However, the rumor was something that couldn't be quenched, stopped, and Javert knew better than to ignore it completely, even with the lack of evidence concerning a theft.

Of course, it wouldn't be enough of a proof just yet. After all, it could all be some sort of horrible coincidence. Maybe the candlesticks got into Monsieur Madeleine's hands after the thief had sold them to make money? Javert didn't believe it for one single second but he knew that he had to play the Devil's advocate because it was what anyone at the Prefecture would do before daring to accuse a man such as Monsieur Madeleine, the mayor of the town, of being a convict on the run after breaking his parole.

Of course, now, any doubt he may have had in the past had vanished from his mind completely. He knew he still had to find sufficient proof to accuse the man, but he could at least rest easy, knowing he wasn't making the mistake of stalking an innocent man.


	4. Book I: Valjean Chapter III

******My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter III**

Now that he had the proof he needed to be – if not the proof he still needed to convince the Prefecture of what he knew – Javert felt his interest in every little detail of his life with Madeleine, Valjean as he now knew him to be, renewed. Of course, this knowledge was tempered by the realization that there seemed to be absolutely no kind of afterthought for his generosity towards the poorer class.

He had gone back to bed that morning, when he had discovered the candlesticks, before Valjean had woken up. He wanted to maintain the illusion that he had not snooped around and still knew nothing more about his host that what the man had elected to show him. It proved to be ridiculously easy and Valjean had been, therefore, none the wiser.

For Valjean, it seemed that life had continued as usual, despite now having a young houseguest to take care of and cater to, particularly when it came to watching the evolution of his wound. Because of his vigilance and worry, Javert found himself staying alone at home with the housekeeper most of the time, as the man seemed to be convinced that he wouldn't be fit to leave the house before he was fully healed.

It was an opportunity like no other for Javert. Yet, he had to admit that, with the exception of the presence of the candlestick in his study, there was absolutely nothing that would betray the presence of a man who was not who he seemed to be. No, it seemed that since his arrival in Montreuil-sur-Mer, all these years ago, Jean Valjean had actually been an honest citizen, with the exception of his name.

This was a surprising turn, one that Javert didn't like one bit. Men like Valjean, convicts released on parole, couldn't change but, if he couldn't change, there was no way he would have been able to spend the last few years living so honest. Therefore, either Valjean was indeed doing some disreputable business – more than just praying for him not to judge people too harshly and calling off what would be warranted punishments– and Javert couldn't find the evidence of it in the house or Javert was simply wrong in his beliefs.

He closed the eyes, seizing the opportunity now that the housekeeper seemed a little less annoyed to have him underfoot. She had switched to ignoring him instead of watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to reveal his true nature by pinching something valuable – if there was such a thing to be found in this house – and running away.

He couldn't believe he may have been wrong about the nature of the convict. It must have been an elaborate con but then, what use would it be to do what he had done for him simply for the benefice of a street child? Unless, of course, Valjean knew it was him. However, Javert was not one to delude himself with stories so farfetched they didn't have a chance to be true. No, Valjean was acting the way he did because it was simply what he did.

Of course, with so much free time on his hand, Javert had now all the leisure to think about other things and he had to admit there was at least one thing that worried him more than he would admit. What preoccupied him to such a level was the fact that he was literally missing from his post with no explanation given about it to his superiors. He dreaded to think what kind of story he would have to give them to convince them they could give him his job back without fearing it would happen again – if finding such a story was even possible. He didn't want to think about the possibility of being outright dismissed and forever losing his job. What would he do if such a thing happened?

He could, of course, ask Valjean to have more details but he had absolutely no idea on how to bring up the subject naturally, as there was no good reason for Etienne to ask about it. Etienne had no previous knowledge, no idea of who Javert was, except for what little Valjean had told him. Why then would he be interested in someone he had only heard about once? Javert had to resign himself to not knowing anything about what was going on at the stationhouse and what would be decided about him.

Thankfully, his wound, while not in any way pretty, didn't get infected and so he got better much sooner than he would have expected. He had to admit, it would have taken longer had he been left to make his own choices in his adult state, as he would no doubt have gone back to work way before it was completely healed and aggravated as it was his habit.

Now, barely a couple of weeks later, and he felt no more twinge of pain. His shoulder was as good as new and yes, maybe some of it could be attributed to the youth of his current body, better suited to handle wounds, but he also knew that Valjean and his care were also a contributing factor. As much as he hated it, he had to thank the man.

Of course, he may have been less prompt to offer gratitude had he known that getting better would mean that Valjean would drag him along to accompany him on his daily walk to give alms to the poor and beggars of the town. He thought it was a great idea to get him used back to the outside world.

As a street urchin, he supposed he was expected to be full of empathy and sympathy for the rest of the outcast, knowing their plight, and be ready to do his part to give them something better to look forwards to than what they had. He knew it and, therefore, played it up this way to convince Valjean. Yet, he could feel nothing but disgust and contempt for those people who didn't seem to find honest work, who felt compelled to show the world their misery and expect the honest citizens, those who worked sometimes up to fourteen hours a day, to take them in pity and give them the money they had worked so hard for.

He had to admit, it was by far the most unpleasant thing Valjean could have had him do. Not that the man had any idea about it, obviously.

Javert walked at his side for a while, thankfully not required to hold his hand any long – he could thank the Lord for small mercy as it probably was the one and only thing that could have actually made the experience worse than it already was in his eyes.

Valjean seemed focused on his task, inquiring about the welfare of those people and their family, most of the times calling them by names, proving that he indeed knew them well and didn't simply do his charity as a way to make himself look better in the eyes of the people. Under the circumstances, Javert, who was observing the man as intently as he always had, realized he probably wouldn't notice if he didn't do the rest of the tour with him. He hesitated.

The prudent solution would have been to continue his way at Valjean's side, lest the man thought he had decided to run away now that he was feeling better. However, he also knew he could go back to him while he was on his way back home. He, after all, was very much aware of where he would go. If Valjean inquired, he could always pretend to have felt somewhat tired. It was only to be expected after recovering from an injury, one that had forced him to stay home for so long.

Having decided that, Javert wandered off by himself, making the way backwards, intending on simply sitting down somewhere and avoid watching anymore of this misery all around him. He had only been sitting for a few minutes, his mind reeling about his current condition, when he realized he was not so alone anymore.

He looked up, ready to plan the part of the apologetic child to Valjean when he saw it wasn´t the mayor standing before him. It was, instead, a group of people, looking all too shabby to be respectable and with an air of menace about them. Javert knew too much of the world not to know immediately their intentions were far from pure.

"What d'you want?" he asked brusquely, knowing his person allowed him to display such a temper.

"What do we want, he ask, the little vermin," one of them, the one who seemed to be the leader of their team, repeated. "What d'you say, Jacques, should we tell him or make him guess?"

The second man, Jacques apparently, was not one to appreciate playing some baiting game. Javert wasn't sure whether to welcome this welcome this– as he hardly liked them himself – or if he would have preferred it to stall.

"Tell him now." Jacques said, crowding Javert more than he would have liked, the stench of their unwashed bodies sending a wave of nausea rolling through him.

The third was observing the scene from the distance, alternating between watching his companions and keeping watch for the police. He didn't seem to really want to be there, but didn't care enough to stop the other two. Javert found that he never could master any kind of respect for anyone of that temperament.

"The Mayor has a soft spot for people you, but he never goes to the length he goes with you and for what? A gypsy scum! You see, my friends and I, we think it's a damn shame for him to bend over backwards for something like you when he could take care of a child of his own bred, a good French child, instead of a wretch like you."

Javert was no stranger to such discourse. Even as a policeman, he still sometimes had to bear the occasional comment, usually when they thought he couldn't hear them. No one would dare say anything to his face now. He also remembered his actual childhood, when discourses like this were a daily occurrence sometimes. However, it had been a long time since he felt the anger course so intently through his vein. He could usual ignore all these remarks very easily.

Today was not such a day and he jumped to his feet, ready to make them swallow back their words. Of course, that was the moment he realized something that had, up to now, been very abstract, something he had not dared to realize before.

He had shot up, intent on intimidating the men before him, as he had always done with criminals choosing to crowd him as he was to arrest them. His presence had often sufficed but, at times, he had been forced to fight them to make them bow down and he had done so with ease, even if he received the occasional injury. It had never prevented him from going to the end of it, even when the men in question were larger and stronger than him.

Of course, the disparities were not as great as they were now. Getting up, he now noticed he barely could reach their waist and no amount of glaring was going to intimidate them. The way these men looked, Javert doubted they would have any problem getting physical with a child. That had not been well-planned of him. He was so used to not fearing getting into trouble, knowing he could always get out on his own, he hadn't realized his vulnerability at the moment, not before it was too late to go back.

The leader of the ragtag team that circled him now seemed almost amused at his defiance, as if he wanted Javert to go against him to give him an excuse to act out his beastly impulse. The third man, sensing trouble, came to help – though why they would need help when they were sure to be able to contain him so easily, he didn't.

"The little gypsy has some fight in him, it seems. What do you say, boys? Should we play some more with him? Maybe teach him a lesson," he continued, the almost teasing tone of the beginning giving place to a more threatening cadence. "I'm sure a good trashing would make him realize his place."

Javert couldn't help stepping back now that they were advancing upon him. He may have been brave, but he knew that in the state he was in now, there was nothing he could do. He was backed against a wall and they were surrounding him so escape was therefore impossible. The fight would be over before it even began, he knew. There was only one option he had left to get out of this alive, only one option he really hated to use and would probably never live it down if anyone ever knew about it ... however, Javert was nothing if not pragmatic and his death by the hand of a bunch of miscreants was not acceptable for him, no matter the cost of the rescue.

He screamed.

It was not really in fear, though he had to admit some unease at this situation, because he wasn't afraid of death and if it should be inevitable he would accept it. However, fear or no fear, a child's voice was nothing if not strident and he knew he would be heard a long way away. He had hoped for some benevolent soul – as unlikely it was for them to come – to at least raise the alarm if not intervene, but he had not expected for his savior to be Valjean himself.

And yet, there he was, thundering down the road until he stopped right in front of them. Javert had never seen that kind of look on Madeleine's face, only on Valjean's and only in the depth of Toulon. The man looked absolutely murderous.

"What are you doing to that child?" he asked, every word enounced with such clarity and barely suppressed rage that the three men were almost quivering.

Javert internally cheered for the man, impressed with his ability to apparently restrain himself from reacting in a more physical way. He had expected him to punch them before even finding his voice but it seemed that Valjean was as good as an actor as Javert and that he took his role as mayor of the town seriously.

The men were beginning to make their excuses, stuttering like fools and Javert sneered at them, as only them could see and not Valjean. The mayor didn't care to hear them and, spotting someone from the corner of his eye, he called out for an officer of the precinct who happened to pass by at this moment. Javert could hardly believe one of his men was oblivious enough to not have heard the commotion but he was in no state to do anything about it now. He committed the man's face and name to his memory, determined to have words with him when he was back.

"Officer, will you make sure these gentlemen are suitably punished for their intent of harming a child," Madeleine said, much harsher than he had intended to, Javert was certain.

"Of course, Monsieur le Maire," the officer said, almost stuttering himself at the impressive glare the man was still harboring.

With that out of the way, the man appeared to lose any semblance of interest in the criminals, certain perhaps that the officer would indeed do his job to the best of his ability, and turned his attention back to Javert. As rattled as he could admit to be by the encounter, Javert was in the process of thinking of an apology to give about his wandering off, his prepared one having slipped out of his mind during the recent events.

However, before he even had the chance to open his mouth, he found himself lifted and it took him a few moments – and an impressive flail of limbs – before he realized that Valjean had scooped him up and was now hugging him tightly, one strong arm behind his tights, the other behind his head, murmuring what he thought were supposed to be reassuring words, muffled by his hair.

The breath caught in Javert's throat, as he wasn't expecting something like that, but his body appeared to be reacting on his own, without any input from his brain, as his legs wrapped themselves around the man's waist, and he hid his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent and finding himself oddly calmed by it.

It was not a response he would have expected from himself. It was not the response of a man of the law, but one of a child. Maybe if he had thought about it, he would have done so anyway, in a bid to gain Valjean's compassion, but this had been purely instinctive. He could only fear what that meant in relation to the curse he was under.

Still, clenching his little hands in Valjean's coat, he took a few deep breaths, calming himself down and he had to admit he hadn't felt quite so safe in a very long time, longer than he could remember. Maybe, once upon a time, he would have felt that way, held tightly in his mother's arms, but he couldn't remember it and, if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to remember it. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on Valjean's voice, trying to tie himself to the present of the situation.

"God, I was so afraid when I heard you scream, Etienne. I hadn't realized you had wandered off. You can't do that again. It's too dangerous out there. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't been in time. But you're alright, that's all that matters right now. You're alright and I'm taking you home, alright. I'm taking you home right now."

Valjean was still petting his hair as he was talking and Javert felt a knot form in his throat as he listened. Such caring words, such attention lavished upon him, it felt good, too good maybe. He couldn't let himself forget why he had crossed that man's path, couldn't let himself forget what his intention was for letting himself get close to him. Yet, against his wished, he felt as if he was gaining something he had always needed, always wanted, without having a name for it and it was hard to not let himself accept it. Now, if only the name uttered had really been his.

That was the problem in the end, wasn't it? Valjean cared about Etienne, very much so, and Javert couldn't believe it was a ploy, couldn't believe it was anything but a real, genuine care towards the young boy he had caught stealing. He knew that. However, Etienne didn't really exist. Etienne was a complete invention. It wasn't _him_. And he knew, he just knew that Valjean's attitude would be very different if he knew that the boy in his arms was really Javert, the guard who had punished him, who had handed him his yellow papers, who had sworn to bring him back to Toulon.

Not wanting to analyze the feelings that such a thought evoked in him, Javert closed his eyes and let his head rest of the man's strong shoulder. It was just an act, he told himself, just an act to catch Valjean off guard. Now, if only he could still believe that...


	5. Book I: Valjean Chapter IV

******My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter IV**

The realization that the curse was also slowly turning him into a child emotionally speaking was not one that sat well with Javert. Having a child's body was already bad enough, but he could still find some upsides – like the one he was exploiting for example – that could be an asset for his job; the urge to act like a child, however, had absolutely no benefit he could see.

To try and forget about this new development, he decided to throw himself fully into his quest to find the final and definite proof, the proof that he could present in front of the Prefecture to obtain an arrest warrant for the mayor.

Thinking more about it, he had come to the conclusion, in the end, that there was one and only one way for a positive identification and that was to see, with his own eyes, the marks left by the years in Toulon.

He knew there were a lot of marks on any convict's body, from the harshness of their lives. First, there were the ones that all men who were sent there – whether for a year or for twenty – bore: around their neck, around their wrists and their ankles, leftovers of the chains that bound them together. Then, there was the brand, forming their prisoner number, at least for those who were sent to the galley– or those who were caught trying to escape – while it was currently in practice. Valjean hadn't been marked when he came but, after his various escape attempts it had been decided it was too risky to leave him without such a distinctive mark. He had been branded.

A model prisoner may escape with only these marks on his skin. It was more than enough to brand them for life. It still may very well be the only damage done. Of course, it was extremely rare for there were not many model prisoners – except for those few, those very few, who had been sentenced to only one or two years and managed to keep their head down the whole time. It was rare but it did happen.

It was hardly the case with Valjean. The punishment for all of his escape attempts had been the lash and god knew there had been many. His back, by the time his parole had begun, must have been covered in a crisscross of scars.

Of course, the hard part would be to get Valjean to actually show them to him. In all the time he had been living with the man – and even before, when he was merely observing him from the distance – the mayor had always been very intent on keeping every inch of his chest, his back and arms covered. At no point did his sleeves come up or was his collar opened, no matter the scorching heat of the summer days. It had seemed strange to no one, because the mayor was well-known to be a very pious man and showing any skin would have seemed inappropriate to him. No one questioned it. Javert, on the other hand, always had his suspicion.

Valjean would never have made the mistake of finding himself in a situation that allowed Javert to see anything he didn't want him to while the man was an inspector. No matter how careful he still was, the mayor would not show the same amount of paranoia with a child, a child who would see him as a savior. No, Javert was sure he would manage to make the man let him see his scars, one way or another. He just had to become a little... clumsy.

Clumsy enough that, one day, when both he and Valjean were in the kitchen, he lost his balance, reaching high for a pitcher full of water as the mayor was walking by and drenched him completely in tepid water. He would never have used boiling water; no matter how far he was ready to go, he still had limits.

"I'm sorry!" Javert exclaimed, feigning mortification. "I'm very sorry, M'sieur! I didn't mean to..."

He affected panic, the same panic a child who had lived on the street and finally found some place to be would feel at the thought of having angered his savior to the point of risking to be sent back to his misery. Had he not done so, he knew Valjean would have fled out before he even had time to spy anything on his body.

However, Valjean would never let a child have a panic attack all alone. He was right. The mayor, instead of disappearing upstairs as Javert could see he wanted to, forced himself to stay calm and knelt down to Javert´s eye level.

"It's okay, Etienne," he began reassuringly and Javert stopped his babbling, meeting Valjean's eyes and looking at the now transparent shirt which covered absolutely nothing of the tapestry of scars marring the man's torso. "It was an accident. It happens."

The soft, comforting words evoked a twinge of guilt in Javert, hating the deception as it was most definitely not an accident, but he fought it back. He was doing his job and nothing more. He had never felt guilty about deceiving a criminal and he wasn't going to begin now, even if Valjean was hardly your typical criminal.

"Do I scare you?" Valjean asked, after seeing the child so entranced by his scars and Javert startled out of his musing to focus back on the mayor, who seemed horror-struck at the thought of frightening the young boy he cared so deeply about.

Javert shook his head, mostly because it was the absolute truth. No matter how much he should have been frightened by the situation he was in, in front of an ex-convict, having just discovered his secret and in an extremely vulnerable state, he knew, despite himself, that he was in no danger at all, that he could hardly find a safer place to be.

"I remember scars like this, when I was little," Javert said, remembering the story he had already told Valjean about his parents. "On people, in jail. Were you in jail?"

He asked the question with all the innocence he could muster, while still showing the bluster of a child who didn't fear asking questions that could anger his interlocutor. No urchin would ever back down from asking a delicate question. They believed in being brutally honest in their opinion and curiosity, if not always in their stories.

"Yes, Etienne. I was in jail, for a very long time. Would you like me to tell you my story? So that you can decide for yourself if you still want to stay with me?"

It was going even better than Javert had anticipated. There was no reason for Valjean to lie now, to narrate a false story to a young boy he had so altruistically taken it. There was no reason for any cover-up anymore. If Valjean had still wanted to keep the truth secret, he would have simply told Javert he didn't want to talk about it and not actually proposed to tell everything.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation at all, wanting to hear the whole story, from start to finish, wanting to know everything there was to know about how Valjean had come to being here.

For when he would go to the Prefecture, Javert added to himself, which would be about time in his opinion. It was not idle curiosity. It was not a wish to see for himself how the man had managed to change so much in the last few years. No, it was purely professional, to have all the cards in hand when the time came for him to hand Jean Valjean over to justice, at last.

"Why don't you go and wait for me in the in the living room. I'll ask Madame Antoinette to mop up the water and change my shirt. I'll be with you in a minute."

Javert nodded and went straight to the living room, sitting down on the sofa. He felt slightly guilty when he saw the face Madame Antoinette made as she took in the state of the kitchen. He didn't enjoy giving the woman even more work but it had been absolutely necessary.

The seconds seemed to pass more slowly than usual, as Javert waited for Valjean to return. Almost as slow as it did during his painfully long stake outs, knowing the criminal was going to show up at long last but having to wait for just the right moment to act if he wanted to get the conviction he desired. It was anticipation in its purest form.

Finally, after what had seemed an eternity, but couldn't have been any more than a few minutes at the very most – which was proven by Antoinette not having finished her task yet – Valjean came back down, in a dry shirt, looking more sombre than Javert could remember seeing him, ever. Apparently, the idea to drag up the past, even if he had been the one to offer to do so in the first place, didn't enchant him.

"Alright, Etienne, I'll tell you how I came to be in jail," Valjean spoke up.

Then the story began to unfold, the one that he had told so many times during his stay in Toulon, to defend himself in the eyes of the guards who, quite frankly, couldn't care less. It had never made any difference to them, never made them change their opinion. Whether the man in the pit was a thief, a rapist or a murderer didn't matter at all.

Of course, now he could ask all the questions he wished to, all the question that never had any importance before but that, suddenly, appeared important to him, even if he didn't know why, even if it didn´t change the fact that the man in front of him was a wanted criminal.

"Why did you steal? Why not get work?" Javert asked. "You told me I shouldn't steal."

"Yes, I told you that you should never steal again and for a good reason. I wouldn't want to see what happened to me happen to you too. If I had known, back then, what would happen then I would have never done so in the first place. But I felt it was the only way. It had been a very rough winter and there was no work to be found anywhere. I tried and I tried. I did some little jobs, here and there, everything I could find but, in the end, it wasn't enough. There was just not enough work. If it had been just me, I would have endured. I could have. Even my sister and her oldest children would have been able to stand the hunger. We would have made it through until the spring, until nature began anew and work could be found again but her youngest... he was so small, so sick, so weak. I didn't think he would be able to last one more day without food so I did the only thing I could think of."

After such a monologue, Valjean let out a sigh.

"In the end, I don't even know if he was saved, if he survived that winter. I just know my sister and one child moved to Paris, four years into my sentence. I have no other news. I haven't been able to find anything about them since I came out of Toulon."

Javert listened with rapt attention and, for once in his life, he was able to see beyond the act he found so distasteful, he could see how Valjean could have been pushed to commit a crime such as the one he did, one less horrid than most of those who wasted their life in Toulon. Nineteen years in hell for that... oh, if only Valjean had never tried to escape!

Of course, after this tale, he finally understood why the man had tried to escape at the time he did. The date, the date of the only message he ever received about his sister... that was why he had made the attempt at the time. Had that message never come... Valjean would have finished his last year and been on parole, not forever but only a little while, and he would have been able to reconstruct his life, not with an alias, not under a false name with the risk of being caught always haunting him, but as himself.

"How long has it been?" Javert asked, because a child would be endlessly curious by now, would not know everything Javert knew and therefore wouldn't really need to ask.

"Seven years," Valjean answered, interpreting the question as how long he had been out of jail and Javert made a show to frown.

"Shouldn't you have gone to Paris, then, instead of here to find them? They must still be there."

Valjean shook his head.

"There was fifteen years between the news they were there and the moment I was released. I would never have been able to find them."

"Fifteen years! But that's nineteen years! You can't have nineteen years for stealing!"

"It was only five years for stealing. But I tried to escape. Several times. They added time to my sentence for every attempt. Enough of that! I really don't want to talk about my time there. It's not for a child to hear."

Javert bristled. He had never believed in shielding children from the reality of life and, maybe, if more of them were taught about how it truly was in jail, less of them would grow up to become criminals and end up learning on their own. However, he knew it was not Valjean's point of view and, as a child, he would probably not be able to change his mind on the subject. Javert almost snorted. Even as his inspector he had never been able to change his mind. God knew that they had been in disagreement over a lot of subjects during the three years he had been working for him and the man could be stubborn to a fault when he wanted to be.

"I would have hated the world!" Javert said. "I would have wanted to make them pay."

He would have wanted nothing of the sort – not that he would have been in any position to want to because he would have never committed a crime in the first place – but it was a way to continue the conversation to get to the point where the man Valjean was at the end of his imprisonment could become Monsieur Madeleine, a man who was almost too good to be true.

"I did," Valjean admitted and it looked painful to remember how full of hate he used to be. "I wanted nothing more than to get my revenge on the world especially after I realized that no matter where I went, people would not hire me for any job, would not take me in at inns and bars, even when I had more than enough money to pay for my stay. I even told one innkeeper I would sleep in his stable and still pay for a room but the yellow papers... they were more than enough to make them refuse."

Valjean was lost in his reminiscence and Javert let himself wince at that. That was something he knew should be changed. Of course, the convict they released had to be followed to make sure they stayed on the right side of the law, but by allowing everyone to know they were criminals, they basically insured they would never find any honest work. Of course, he didn't make the rules. (no grammar mistake here, but I´m not sure if Javert would ever see it that way ... even with the mental changes his curse brings ... not sure)

"Someone took me in, though. Monseigneur Myriel. That man saved more than just my life. He saved my soul. He taught me I could still be a good man, that I could still be a man of God. He could have sent me back to the galley after I robbed him. I thought that was what was going to happen when I was brought back to him with the silverware. I still feel ashamed for what I did. How could I ever think about robbing such a man, such a saint?"

Valjean closed his eyes.

"When he lied to the police and corroborated my story, that he was the one who had given me the silver. I couldn't believe it but once he gave it to me and even added his candlesticks to the lot, with only the order that I should use them to become an honest man... everything changed in this moment. Oh... I was still not in the right place, I was like in a daze and I took some money from a child. Not by force. I simply... stepped on a coin he had dropped to the ground but I scared him and... I tried to give it back to him when I realized what I had done but I was never able to find him. I guess he had been so afraid he had run away.

Javert had also been aware of the theft of the money from Petit-Gervais. He hadn't known that Valjean had tried to find the child again to give the money back to him. Of course, it didn't change the fact that he had done so in the first place, so it made no difference from a purely legal point of view but, somehow, he found it more and more difficult to stay absolutely impartial as he listened to Valjean's story. None of the admissions, as truthful as they were, could have come from the mouth of a bad man.

"It was in that moment I decided I had to change. I had to spare the world my hate, my vengeance, lest I became a monster, the monster the guards in Toulon always accused me to be. I had fought so hard for them to see me as something else, something more, even when I knew it was something I would never be able to convince them of, but I wasn't going to become that person. But I knew I could never become someone else, become an honest man, by staying Jean Valjean. Jean Valjean had to disappear. It was the only way."

"You became Monsieur Madeleine," Javert stated.

"I did. I was lucky enough not to be asked my papers when I arrived in Montreuil," Valjean continued and Javert couldn't help notice he didn't say a word about the heroic deed that had made such a thing possible. "From then on, I always did my best to be irreproachable, to help others. Monseigneur Myriel spared me because he wanted me to do the work of God and, in His name, I now do whatever I can for my fellow men."

Valjean finished his tale and there must have been more to say about all his good deeds from then on, more questions to ask about the time in between or even the time in Toulon, but Javert knew it was enough. A good interrogator must know what questions to ask, but also when to stop asking them. Any more requests he could have made from Valjean would have been unnecessary. It would have been only for curiosity's sake and that wasn't what he was there to do.

No, he had all he needed, knew all the details that had led Jean Valjean from Faverolles to Toulon and 24601 to Montreuil and Monsieur Madeleine. He could make a complete report whenever he chose to about all the crimes Valjean had committed during his parole and that was all that mattered to the Prefecture he knew. He could ask more about his good deeds, but they wouldn't care about that. They wouldn't want to know about that because any good things people had to say about the men they were trying to condemn always was trouble for them.

It may not have been entirely fair but, for the law to work, they had to only consider the time when people broke it and punish them accordingly, without being constrained by whatever the outlaws had done with their life outside of these occasions.

"Do you still wish to stay with me, even knowing who I really am?" Valjean asked Javert and the inspector looked at the mayor of the town and gave him a solemn nod.

"Yes, M'sieur. You're a good man, Monsieur Valjean," Javert added.

It was only later, once he was back in his bedroom, after a supper taken mostly in silence – Valjean had been lost in his thoughts most of the time and Javert hadn't tried to make conversation – that Javert realized something extremely important, that shook him to his core.

After having been told Valjean's story, he always knew he was going to tell him he was a good man. It was something Etienne absolutely had to say to keep his place at Valjean's side except, in the end, it hadn't been Etienne who had said it. No, it had been Javert himself and the inspector felt his head spin because he realized he had actually meant the words.


	6. Book I: Valjean Chapter V

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter V**

Life went back to normal after Valjean's confession. The only remarkable change was that now Javert used his real name instead of Monsieur Madeleine. He, of course, only did so in the privacy of the mayor's house. It was his understanding that Valjean thought it was, in his mind, a shared secret he was glad to enjoy, a boy's game of spies. Javert did nothing to deceive him from this notion, but he was hoping that using now his real name would let him see more clearly that the man was a criminal.

Of course, it did absolutely nothing of the sort. Now that Javert had realized the man was a good man, a better man than most law-abiding citizens if he was honest with himself, he had some difficulty seeing him in any other light. He had always been a man of absolute and he had gone from seeing Valjean as a dangerous criminal to be stopped at any cost to almost a saint in his daily endeavour.

His apparent regression to the mind state of a young child, memories none withstanding, wasn't doing anything to help. The more time passed, the more he found himself fighting against urges that he hadn't had since his early childhood, behaviour patterns that he remembered from a distant past but would have recoiled from even the morning he had woken up in this body. It was terrifying to process, this knowledge that, if he couldn't find a way to reverse the situation soon, he would probably be unable to think normally, to think reasonably and want to find the solution.

Because that was also part of the problem, Javert knew. Valjean was giving him a dreamlike childhood, a childhood way better than the one he had lived through when he had really been a child. Javert's past was full of neglect, if not sometimes outright abuse, first growing up in a jail and then with his mother, who could only be called that because of the blood they shared and not any familial instinct in her. This new childhood, in the care of someone he would have, only weeks ago, called his enemy was nothing of the sort. He was cared for, almost cherished; everything he had dreamed of – when he had dared to dream about another life – as a child. And the more time passed, the more he found himself wanting it to continue.

Valjean was apparently flourishing in his new role as a caretaker and, while he most certainly didn't neglect his duty as mayor of the town and owner of the factory, he had lost some of his zeal. There was a time where he had almost lived in his office, save for his daily walk among the poor and a few hours of sleep a day. Now, the hours he kept there were much more regular, and he spent more time at home than he ever did before. The rumours were, for once, not that far from the truth when it came to be known that the mayor had adopted a child.

Of course, there was also another point of preoccupation in the mayor's mind. Javert knew because, now that 'Etienne' was much more in the know, had proven he was mature enough to accept the reality of life, Valjean let himself be more open with him and burden him somewhat with his thoughts and worries.

Which was why Javert was now painfully aware that Valjean was extremely worried about his own disappearance. He had, of course, been told about that the very first day they had crossed path but Javert had thought it would be a passing worry and that the mayor would, in the end, find himself relieved after a while, once he realized that Javert wasn't coming back or, even if he was coming back, would be fired on the spot because of his unexplained absence.

Apparently, Valjean liked to be contradictory. For one, he had actually lied to the Prefecture and pretended that Javert had been sent, by the mayor himself, on an important mission, which he had to undertake immediately. The inspector had therefore had no time to pass through the proper channels, something Valjean took full responsibility for. Secondly, he had apparently managed to make it sound dangerous enough that men had been deployed to look for him in case he was detained against his will.

Javert had no idea what the particular details of this supposed mission included but he had full confidence that the mayor, once he was found – well, at least in Valjean's mind he would be found – he would be told everything and was expected to repeat it to his superior. Normally, he would hate the idea of telling such lies, but he had to admit there was really no other way to explain what happened, unless he wished to finish his life in an asylum.

Privately, and in a way he couldn't really explain to himself, Javert was glad to see that at least someone seemed worried about his fate. He doubted very much that his colleagues were; he had, after all, no illusion about his popularity among his peers. His personality and ethic weren't exactly helping him make friends, not that he tried. However, apparently, there was still one person in his town who wanted to see him come back, even if it was the very last person he had expected to.

Javert felt somewhat guilty about all of this. He knew that Valjean was immensely worried and he had the power to assuage these worry by telling him the truth and yet, somehow, he couldn't get himself to do it. Before, he could have said that it was because he didn't have all the information he wanted, that he still had to play the part to get Valjean to confess his guilt, but now he knew everything and there was really no reason to continue the masquerade. He could come clean and everything would be over.

However, something was holding him back. He didn't want to tell the truth because he knew the moment he did, he would have to leave. Valjean may not have any problem welcoming a street kid in his home but, no matter how worried he was for his inspector, he wouldn't want him staying in his house, especially not after he had spent weeks spying on him, making him tell him all his secrets with the only intention of dragging him in front of a court. No, Valjean was a good man but Javert knew the moment he told the truth, he would probably never see the man again, except in his official capacity. It just didn't sit well with him.

So there he was, facing a moral dilemma he couldn't find a solution to, knowing that one way or another everything would have to end soon. The more time passed, the more difficult it would become.

"Is something bothering you, Etienne?"

Javert startled. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't realized he was picking at his food, absent-mindedly, instead of eating it. Of course, Valjean would have noticed immediately. He was a good observer, almost as good as Javert usually was – usually because it seemed that lately, he had more and more trouble concentrating.

"No," he lied quickly, starting to eat again. "I'm fine."

Valjean didn't believe him, he could see it in his eyes, but apparently decided that Etienne would talk to him whenever he was ready. The next mouthful was difficult to swallow past the knot in his throat at this show of trust towards him, who most certainly didn't deserve it.

"I'm just tired," he tried to explain, giving himself an out at the same time, knowing that Valjean would take his words and run with it.

He wasn't disappointed.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Valjean proposed. "I should have asked Madame Antoinette to give you your supper before I came home. I knew I would be working late."

That was right. Valjean had come home from work way later than he usually did. Javert knew it was mostly because he was meeting with the police force, hoping for news that wouldn't arrive and had to fight with them to convince them to continue with the search instead of just giving him up as a lost cause.

Javert nodded immediately and excused himself from the table. He wasn't exactly tired, even though his endurance had taken a serious blow with his new physical condition, but he needed to think, really think, about what the future would bring and he couldn't do that in front of Valjean, not when he knew the man could read just about everything on his face.

He quickly prepared himself for bed and slid under the covers. That way, when Valjean irrevocably came to check on him before heading to bed himself, he would believe he had gone straight to sleep. Javert knew if he didn't, there was a risk he wouldn't see time pass and then it would be difficult to explain himself.

Thinking in the dark had always proved to be helpful to Javert and, with the curtains open as he had asked for them to stay days and nights, he could see the stars twinkling in the sky. He laid down on his side, looking through the window, observing them, letting their sight ground him in the present, as they always did. They had always guided him and he hoped to find some comfort in their light tonight, when he had so much to think about.

He let his mind wander, let himself think about all the possibilities, all the roads he could now chose to take, not knowing which one was the right one, not knowing how he could decided, how he could do it without making a mistake, a mistake that could probably destroy lives. His life. Valjean's life. How many others? He didn't know and it was too much. How could he decide? How could he decide when he couldn't even face reality with an impartial eye, without feelings getting in the way, his child mind clouding his rationality even in that?

He didn't know how long he laid there, thinking, but his eyes were closed and his mind far away, in the land of sleep, when Valjean came to check up on him on his way to bed and he wasn't aware of the man brushing his hair back from his forehead and tucking the covers under his chin. He wasn't aware of it all, even when his body reacted in his sleep to seek more of the warmth of Valjean's hand, as if starved for a human contact that had gone missing for so long during his life.

Maybe it was thinking about all the ways things could go wrong, maybe it was because his mind had been in turmoil for the last few days, maybe it was simply fate that had decided that things had to come to a head but that night, demons filled Javert's sleep.

He, of course, had had his share of nightmares, whether when he was a child, all alone in the dark, or when he was an adult, remnants of meeting the worst of humanity in his everyday life. It had stopped bothering him a long time ago. When he woke up, sweating, from a vision of horror, he would look at the stars and take a few deep breaths until his respiration was calm once more. Then he would simply turn around and go back to sleep. As easy as that.

Apparently, his child mind didn't react so well to the nightmarish visions which had decided to fill his dreams that particular night. He had been trapped inside his own mental, not knowing he was dreaming, not able to outrun them, no matter how much he tried. In his dream, he was screaming and no one came. He was all alone, face to face with the worst demons his mind could drag up, rooted in place.

Then he was back at the mayor's house, Valjean looking at him, eyes full of concern, hands on his arms as if he had been shaking him slightly. Javert realized he had stopped breathing and released the air from his lung, a shaky exhalation, which had difficulty passing even in his sitting position. Then, after he forced himself to take one, two, three deep breaths, he became conscious his whole body was shaking.

He was sweating, his throat felt raw – the screams he had let out in his nightmares must have echoed in real life, which would explain Valjean's presence at his side. God, he must have woken him up. Shame welled up inside him, as well as tears he couldn't prevent. No, no, no...It really wasn't the moment to let childish instincts take over because, right now, he knew he would do something he would never forgive himself for if they did.

"Etienne, child, are you alright?" Valjean inquired softly, knowing the answer was a negative one and, when no word actually came, he tenderly brushed Javert's sweat-matted hair away from where they fell upon his eyes.

It was too much. There was no more proud police inspector, only a terrified child, just out of the clutch of a nightmare and he threw himself bodily into Valjean's arms, his own limbs coming around the man's neck and he hid his face in the mayor's nightshirt, hoping for it to hide the tears he wasn't sure he could contain for very much longer.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting from Valjean when he did that. He hadn't been thinking at all, only acting on instincts. Yet, he was surprised when strong arms encircled his shaking form and hauled him up so he was sitting on the man's lap, properly.

One of Valjean's hands found its way to the back of Javert's head and he began whispering reassuring nonsense in his hair, rocking him as any parent would do for their child, to calm them down.

"It's okay, you're okay. I'm here. It was just a dream, it wasn't real. There is nothing here that could hurt you," the litany of reassurance fell with perfect ease from Valjean's lips and Javert tried to forget the nightmare, concentrating on what the man was saying. "I won't let anything hurt you ever again, I promise. Hush... hush... it's alright."

He stopped shaking from his fright. It was difficult to still be afraid in such a place as this, with his man promising he would be safe. He did feel safe, safer than ever before. He trusted that Valjean would protect him from anything, from any demons that would come for him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The words were soft, as if Valjean was afraid to break an enchantment, but Javert simply shook his head because no, he most certainly didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even know how to describe what had been going on for it to make sense and he knew, deep down, that this nightmare was merely a wake-up call, one that he had needed. Not because the nightmare held all the answers – no, indeed, it hadn't made much sense at all, except for that overwhelming sensation of fear – but because it had led them both to this situation.

And there, held in Valjean's arms, sitting on his laps, close enough for him to feel the man's heartbeat against his own body, Javert knew that there was only one path he could take and trust that everything would be alright. He just had to find the right words.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Valjean asked again, alerting Javert that he was taking too long to search for his words.

"No," Javert said, his voice thick with emotion and he closed his fist against the back of Valjean's nightshirt, gathering his courage. "I need to tell you something."

With these words, he stepped back from the embrace and Valjean let his arms fall from around his body. He watched as Javert sat back on the bed, a step away from the mayor, preferring to put some distance between them as he wasn't sure how the man would react and he feared an overreaction.

Valjean looked at him attentively, waiting for him to speak in silence but, as Javert fidgeted, looking at the covers on the bed instead of his interlocutor, trying to find the right way to express his thoughts, to say what he needed to say without sounding absolutely insane, the man apparently picked up on his unease.

"We can talk tomorrow," he proposed, thinking that maybe the idea to speak in the light of the day would be better for the child but he was cured of this notion immediately when he saw the vehement shake of head.

"No!" Javert exclaimed. "If I wait for tomorrow, I am not sure I will be able to tell you. I do not think that if you give me more time to think about it, I will manage to say the words. It just... I am not sure how to say it."

Javert was aware that his whole speech pattern had changed with his sentence and the frown on Valjean's face told him that he had noticed something was off about it. Well, it didn't really matter anymore now, did it?"

"You... don't have to tell me at all, if you don't want to," Valjean once again tried, wanting to assuage his anxiety, and Javert could have strangled the man and his compulsion to ease everyone around him.

"No. It's something that you absolutely need to know. I'm just not sure if you are going to believe what I tell you. And if you actually believe me... I don't think you could ever forgive me."

That was the crux of the problem for Javert, not only being believed because, let's face it, it was one hell of a tale but the possibility or, more appropriately, the impossibility of forgiveness. It... hurt him to think that the man was going to hate him after that.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad. Etienne..."

Javert let out a bitter laugh at that.

"That's the problem, isn't it? I'm sure you could forgive Etienne everything but he doesn't exist. He's just a construct I created. And you need to know who I really am."

Javert took a deep, shaky breath and finally looked right up to meet Valjean's gaze, full of incomprehension but still awfully warm and reassuring and he swallowed painfully, aware that everything was going to change with his next words.

"You need to know the truth."


	7. Book II: Javert Chapter I

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**BOOK 2: JAVERT**

**Chapter I**

Valjean had listened to Javert's tale without interruption, not because he didn't have questions, but because he was aware of how difficult this was for his interlocutor. He had been tempted to interject, at the very beginning, because of his absolute disbelief concerning the story. However Javert, having had the foresight to anticipate that particular reaction, had quenched any doubt he may have had by telling Valjean a few things only Inspector Javert could have know and not Etienne. It had been enough to convince him.

It had taken quite a bit of time to get everything out in the open and Javert, who was not someone who made a habit of lying, even by omission – no matter how it may have appeared to be the case at the moment –or to shirk his responsibilities, had not shied away from admitting the reason which had led him to play the part of the street orphan. He had readily admitted he had done so in the hope of entrapping Valjean. His courage, however, had not gone as far as permitting him to continue looking at the man during the last part of his confession. He had lowered his eyes to the bed.

He may have been willing to bear the consequences of his choices, that didn't mean he wanted to see the betrayal and hatred in the, up until now, so kind eyes he had come to appreciate to be cast upon him.

Once his story was finished, he had fallen silent and had kept looking down at the bedcover, waiting for the judgment he was sure was about to come, accompanied by the order to leave the house immediately.

Valjean couldn't answer immediately once Javert had finished talking. There was such an amount of information for him to process and his mind was in complete turmoil. Emotions coursed through him, one after the other, battling for control: disbelief, betrayal, amazement but, eventually, he settled on relief.

He had been so worried about Javert's sudden disappearance that the knowledge the man was safe and sound – if not really in his normal state – was an unspeakable relief. He was, for the moment, willing to overlook all the lies he had been fed during these last few weeks.

Of course, now that he knew the truth, now that Javert had finally been willing to come clean to him, there was one thing that had to be done immediately, something that had to be taken care as soon as possible.

Having come to that conclusion, and having found his voice at last, he looked at the little boy in front of him, at Javert – and he was still finding it difficult to think of that child as his inspector – and spoke.

"Tell me how I can help."

Javert, who had been expecting a totally different order, almost answered completely out of context. It was only as he was opening his mouth that he froze, his brain catching up with his ears, frowned and then his eyes shot up to look at Valjean, finally, astonished and fairly speechless.

"What?" was all which he managed to say.

Valjean frowned in answer, uncertain to what the confusion was, for he had thought he had made himself pretty clear.

"How can I help you turn back to normal? Because I assume you want to find your adult body once again, don't you? You do not wish to stay a child?"

The idea seemed pretty ludicrous when he said it out loud but, then again, what did Valjean really knew of Javert and of his life in the end? Maybe the man did want to stay a child.

"No!" Javert exclaimed, instantly curing Valjean of this notion. "Of course, I do not wish to stay a child! But what the devil do you mean you want to help me! Didn't you hear a single word of what I just said? I abused your kindness to make sure I obtained a confession from you. I betrayed the trust you showed me. I lied to your for weeks on end!"

Of course, Valjean had actually heard all of that but how could Javert not understand that it didn't matter anymore, that it didn't change a single thing about what he had to do, about what the right thing to do was?

"I heard," Valjean answered plainly. "Javert, do you have any means to do this on your own?"

Javert shook his head. He was forced to admit he still hadn't managed to reach any possible solution to his actual problem. He had no idea on how to find the gypsy clan that had cursed him. He had no idea on how to proceed now that he would be back on the street.

"Then you need my help. I am... unsure of what I can do, of how I can help, but I'm certain with the resource I have at my disposal, you will be able to think of something."

"But why would you even want to help me?" Javert asked because he just could not get his head around the fact that Valjean would actually do something like that, after all Javert put him through.

It made no sense at all to him. If he had been in Valjean's shoes, then the child in front of him would be back in the streets in less than a minute – if not in jail. Why would anyone want to help someone who had lied to them without a single second of hesitation, without any semblance of shame? There was no logic in it. Even someone like Valjean had to have some limits to what he could accept, some limits to his kindness, especially when it came to people like Javert, who had done everything in his power to make his life more complicated.

When Valjean saw the look of pure confusion, mixed with apprehension, a fear of what was going to happen to him now that the truth was out, he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. His hand came up but he aborted the gesture before he had actually reached the soft cheek on the b- of Javert. He doubted that the attention would be welcomed now that the man had stopped pretending to actually be a child. It had been instinctual though, the need to comfort, to reassure. Stopping himself, fighting against those so natural urges, hurt more than all of Javert's confessions. Still, he had a question he needed to answer.

"Because you need my help. This is all I need to know. And I need- the town needs its inspector back."

The correction didn't go unnoticed by Javert, who barely managed to conceal a flinch at that. Of course, now that the truth was known, that he wasn't exactly missing anymore, he wasn't so liked, so missed anymore, was he? Still, as the mayor, Valjean could still admit needing him. Just because he had proven himself not to be so devoid of sin as the mayor thought, didn't mean he wasn't as effective an inspector as he had always been. It wasn't fair to make such an amendment.

"The town needs me," Javert repeated, scoffing. "Not Monsieur le Maire?"

Valjean frowned. He didn't understand what kind of game Javert was playing.

"I doubt I'll still be the mayor once I'm back in Toulon," he said bitterly.

He had always known there had been a risk it would end like this, from the very moment he had broken his parole. It didn't mean, of course, that it irked him any less to be thrown back in jail, especially now that he had worked so hard, had done so much good for the town. What was going to happen, now, to all these poor people? To all the workers of the factory? With his arrest, they were the ones who were going to suffer. He just knew it. For their sake, he had hoped that he would manage not to get caught. However, he had to admit that, since Javert's appointment as Montreuil's Inspector in Chief, he had resigned himself to the fact it was going to happen sooner rather than later.

Javert was left speechless by his answer. That... hadn't actually crossed his mind. He had managed to actually forget that Valjean wasn't supposed to retake his place as mayor after he had helped Javert come back to himself. That was something that had slipped off his mind completely. Mainly, he realized, because he just couldn't see Jean Valjean as a convict anymore. Because, now that he had been able to see him as a good man, there was nothing else he could see.

"You won't... go to jail," Javert told him and it was almost freeing to say it out loud, to have finally taken this decision and put it into words, to not be at a crossroad anymore.

Maybe he shouldn't be feeling so good, knowing he was breaking the law, knowing he was going to be the accomplice of a fugitive, but it did. He was looking straight at Valjean when he told him the news and saw the look of absolute incomprehension in those so expressive eyes, as if he couldn't process what he had just been told, as if this sentence in itself was actually more surprising than the whole tale of earlier that night.

"I'm not... Javert, my help is not conditional," Valjean said, frowning.

Javert snorted at that because, yes, he had gathered that much after their conversation.

"I know. I know. But I can't arrest you. It would be lawful, yes, but it wouldn't be right."

The distinction had never before even entered his mind when he accomplished his duty. The law was the law and nothing else mattered. However, now, there was nothing he could do to unsee it. He knew that the difference was there and he wasn't certain how he would continue to be able to do his job with the same efficiency than before if he began to doubt the rightfulness of the law. Still, he hoped he would have some help, even if this was perhaps asking too much.

"I... I don't know what to say," Valjean uttered at long last because he had never dared to even hope it could happen, never dared to hope that the man he feared above any other would change his mind and allow him to keep his freedom.

It seemed quite impossible and, not for the first time that night, he wondered whether or not he was really awake or if he was still asleep, in the middle of what could be described as the weirdest dream he ever had.

"You don't have to say anything. I would actually prefer if you didn't say anything."

The last part was muttered and, though Valjean could hear it perfectly, thanks to their very close proximity, he rightly decided it would be better if he simply ignored it. He opened his mouth once again, intending to ask Javert to tell him everything he knew of the situation at hand, but was stopped when the child- the man in question flung the covers away from himself and made a move to climb out of the bed.

"What are you doing?" the question came immediately, accompanied by an impressive frown and an air of reproach that looked so paternal on his aged face Javert had to look away.

"I'm getting my clothes," Javert answered easily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I can't get out of the house in a nightshirt."

"Out?" Valjean repeated incredulous. "It's the middle of the night! Javert, you can't be serious. You can't go out right now. Lord, it's night and it's freezing cold. You're going to get sick if you don't get hurt first."

"What the devil do you mean I can't go out? I can't possibly stay there!?" Javert exclaimed and damn if he wasn't happy about the mayor not having any neighbor, because they would be rightfully angry by now with all the noise they were making.

"And where exactly will you go? Back to that uninhabited building you spent your first night in this body in? This is absolutely out of question! I'm not letting you go back to the streets. You're staying right where you are and that's final."

Valjean was almost scolding by now and that last sentence of his was hardly a suggestion but an outright order. He may have been overstepping his bounds, no question about that, but the mere thought of Javert leaving his home, especially since he had nowhere else to go, was absolutely unimaginable to him and if he had to make him angry by actually keeping him confined to the house against his will, then he would, even at the risk of changing Javert's mind regarding his decision to let him go free. No, Javert was staying right where he was, whether he wanted it or not.

"I... I don't understand," Javert said, looking at him with tired eyes, still sparkling with an ounce of hope, his voice too small to belong to the inspector he knew, no matter his physical age. "You should be throwing me out. That was how it was supposed to go. You are not reacting the right way."

Valjean would have laughed at the rebuke because, who else but Javert would have something to complain about when someone exceeded his expectation and reacted better than he thought he would. However, of course, there was nothing funny about this revelation of how he had imagined the scenario to go, especially considering his earlier hesitation to talk and, now that he thought more carefully about it, his distraction at supper.

"I'm not throwing you out, Javert. Not now, not ever. You're staying with me until we manage to do something about your situation, alright. I would certainly feel better knowing you're safe now that I can actually stop worrying about you being kept prisoner somewhere or stuck in a hospital or even worse."

Javert listened, absolutely speechless, as Valjean talked, his voice as gentle as ever, as if he was actually afraid to spook him. After he had spent so long a time agonizing over his decision to talk, having accepted what consequences would result from his revelation, having accepted he would have to leave the one place he had actually dared to begin calling a home, to know that nothing of the sort was going to happen, that he was still welcome in this home, in the life of the man he had come to appreciate so much, was proving to be too much to handle.

He had still been reeling from his earlier nightmare. The anxiety had barely left him since he had begun recounting the chain of events leading to this moment. His already fragile emotional state, governed more and more by childish reactions, couldn't cope with the onslaught. Tears welled up in his eyes, tears he wished to stop but couldn't. They spilled before he even had time to lower his eyes and, when he did, his shoulders were shaking, betraying the violence of his emotions for the world to see – even though the world, in that particular instance, consisted solely of Valjean.

The man in question watched in undisguised horror as the emotions overcame his inspector, not knowing what to do when confronted to such an unexpected display. It had been so easy mere moments ago, when the child in front of him had been simply a child, Etienne, and not Javert. There had been absolutely no hesitation in his movements when he had closed his arms around the shaking body and it wouldn't even have crossed his mind that there was another way to react.

It was different now. With the knowledge of the real identity of the person sitting beside him, even in this child body, there was something that prevented him from taking the liberty. He didn't think that Javert would particularly appreciate it and let him act this way. Valjean didn't think he was the kind of man who tolerated being seen in such an uncontrollable state and take comfort in the compassion of another being. Of course, he hadn't seemed to Valjean like the kind of man who would allow himself to cry this way. It was puzzling and slightly scary in a way, this helplessness.

"Javert," Valjean murmured and, incapable of staying still any longer, without doing anything to help, he extended his hand.

He had almost reached far enough to touch the boy when Javert's own hand stopped his progression, circling his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and Valjean froze. He had now the confirmation that his touch wasn't welcome and was about to take his hand away when he realized that the grip around his wrist didn't relax or chase his hand away. Therefore, he stayed immobile and silent, waiting for what would be Javert's next move.

It took the inspector a few minutes to compose himself, to dry the remnant of his tears and become calm once more. Once he was done, he looked up at Valjean, managing to somehow contain the blush which threatened to spread over his cheek after such a display and giving him a wry smile.

"This is why I need to find a way back to myself and soon. At the beginning, it was just my body but now..."

Valjean nodded gravely. Yes, he understood what was going on. It wasn't just physical anymore. The change was beginning to have repercussion on an emotional level also.

"You're beginning to react in the manner a child would," he stated and watched as Javert nodded and finally let go of his wrist.

"It has been gradual. It was only just sometimes before, but it has been more and more often lately. Valjean, I can't... I can't stay like this."

Valjean nodded once more because, of course, Javert couldn't stay like that. He would never ever have suggested anything of the sort. However, Javert's life was not, actually, in jeopardy at this very minute, not if it had been weeks already with only that slight degradation on the emotional plan.

"Alright," he said. "Alright. We will do everything in our power to get you back to normal and I will need to know absolutely everything you can remember but not tonight."

Javert frowned, ready to argue his case about it, but Valjean cut him before he even had time to speak up.

"No. It's the middle of the night and we are both tired right now. We need to sleep first, to be able to think about it with a clear mind in the morning, alright? And that will only happen after a good night sleep."

Javert knew that Valjean was right. He knew he shouldn't even try to argue with him because he was hardly in the right state of mind, right at this minute, but now that he had actually managed to confess everything to Valjean, now that his real identity was known and, more importantly, more amazingly, accepted, he wanted nothing more than put everything on the table so that he and Valjean could debate and get to some solution he may not have thought of all on his own or, even if he had thought of it, implanted it in practice because of his lack of resources.

He was about to open his mouth and tell Valjean just this. However, the words were swallowed by a yawn and his eyes narrowed when he saw Valjean's lips twitch, as if repressing a smile. He, however, chose not to comment, preferring to take the high road and pretend he hadn't been about to insist on something so fundamentally untrue as the fact that he didn't feel the last bit tired.

"Tomorrow," Javert stated firmly, as if he suspected Valjean of having lied, of having only said it to appease him without meaning it, just as he would have done in the presence of an actual child.

Valjean nodded.

"Well, later today I supposed," he amended. "Now, go back to sleep alright. You need the rest."

Javert twitched at being addressed like that by Valjean, now that the man knew who was in front of him, but then again, he suspected, it would be difficult for the mayor to get out of the habit of treating him like he would have Etienne. It was his own fault in a way, he supposed. After all, he was the one who had kept the masquerade up for so long. He should have thought about all the possible consequences sooner and, he presumed, it would be difficult to treat someone who looked like a child as one would an adult in a position of authority. He probably wouldn't do any better if their places were reversed.

That in mind, he kept silent as he obeyed Valjean's suggestion and slid himself back under the covers, ready to go back to sleep with an unburdened mind. Valjean, seeing him do so, got up from the bed, where he had stayed sitting during the whole conversation, and watched over him as a hawk as he prepared himself. Once he was apparently satisfied, he tucked the cover back around his body and Javert had to raise an eyebrow at that because, yes, apparently Valjean must have been more than exhausted if he had already forgotten he didn't have to tuck him in.

It seemed that Valjean realized his mistake at last, a sheepish look appearing briefly over his features, before he simply shrugged, as if saying 'no harm done' and blew out the candle he had lit when Javert had still been in the throes of his nightmare.

"Good night, Javert."

"Good night, Valjean," Javert answered automatically, already half-asleep by the time the door closed behind the man.

Unlike before, when his mind had been reeling, scenarios coming and going in all directions, there was nothing that kept him from slipping softly into Morpheus' embrace.


	8. Book II: Javert Chapter II

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter II**

The following morning, when Javert woke up, he had a moment of doubt, a moment where he wasn't sure he had actually confessed everything the night before. Maybe it had been just a dream and hadn't really happened. Maybe that was the reason Valjean had been so conciliating when faced with that strange revelation. Because Javert himself had invented everything and he had chosen to believe the man would want to keep him close and safe.

He was, of course, set straight as soon as he went down to the kitchen to have his breakfast, where his assumption was proven wrong. Valjean was there, at the table, apparently waiting for him which, considering the time, was strange. If Javert stayed in bed longer in the morning – it didn't happen often, no, but he had to admit that he had exhausted himself with all the talking in the night and his crying fit – Valjean would have already been out and at the factory, doing his job.

That was not the case today. Valjean had, it appeared, decided he would take the day off. Considering he hadn't done so since the day he had come to Montreuil-sur-Mer and opened the factory, no one could blame him for it. Javert was forced to confess he was glad about it.

He would have hated having to wait until the evening to be able to talk about what was going on. He had already not particularly appreciated having to wait until this morning but he would have been bouncing off the wall all day long. He couldn't stand to stay idle any longer.

"Good morning, Javert," Valjean said pleasantly and then, when he saw his inspector look around, as if looking for someone, he added: "I've given Antoinette the day off after she finished preparing breakfast. I thought it would be best if we could talk without any fear of being overheard."

Javert nodded.

"Good thinking. And good morning to you too."

He sat himself at the table and began eating. He had to give it to Antoinette, she was a very good cook and he had been eating more than he ever did at his own lodging since he came to reside with Valjean.

"So, what can you tell me you didn't last night?" Valjean asked. "Do you know of anything that could help you reverse the enchantment?"

Javert frowned as he thought about it.

"When that woman cursed me, she did put a clause on the curse but I think it was more something to indicate to me when she would be willing to break it, than a clause that would break it immediately once it was completed because I'm fairly sure it already has."

Valjean contemplated what he was saying, as if he was trying to process the fact that, yes, he was actually talking about a magic spell and Javert could almost sympathize because, for someone who wasn't aware of the true powers of the gypsy clans, Valjean was taking it fairly well all things considered.

"What clause was that?"

Javert had, somehow, hoped that Valjean wouldn't enquire about that. Of course, he had known it was a vain wish since it was the single most obvious question to ask in such a situation. Still, he was a bit embarrassed, seeing how close to the subject the man was.

"That I had to begin seeing the world in shades of grey instead of black and white," he muttered, his mouth full to try and muffle the words as much as he could. "Yes, yes, I know. It was my own decision to use her curse for my own gain instead of as a learning experience that made me actually complete the clause. No need to remind me."

He had added the second part after seeing Valjean's raised eyebrow. He knew it was a hell of a coincidence. If he had never tried to take advantage of his current to try and trap the man, he would probably never have learnt the lesson that old woman had wanted to teach him. It was as if she had known how he would react, had known what would happen before it ever did. Who knows, maybe she did. She hadn't looked especially surprised when he and his men had raided the camp and the curse had been ready to be used on her tongue.

"I didn't say anything," Valjean defended himself, faced with the onslaught of words, the beginning of a smile still trying to grace his lips. "But I'm flattered you change your whole worldview just for me."

Javert glared at him but there wasn't much heat behind it. It was more something done out of expectation rather than real anger.

"How did you...," Valjean began but then stopped to search for the word. "You seem to have realized immediately what had happened and then made plan accordingly, as if it wasn't a surprise."

"Oh, it was a surprise. Trust me when I say I had never planned to wake up in the body of a six year-old child!" Javert intervened.

"That's not what I meant!" Valjean exclaimed.

He took some time to try and gather his thoughts before explaining himself better because he had the feeling that Javert would make him say it out loud instead of helping him out. After all, he must already know what kind of question he wanted to ask.

"Why weren't you surprised that such a thing was actually possible? It's not anything I would have imagined could happen except in fairy tales."

"I'm not sure what kind of fairy tales you have been reading," Javert muttered through clenched teeth because he couldn't find one example of something like that in the few he knew.

However, he understood Valjean's point.

"I know gypsies and how they work. My mother was a gypsy," Javert said, almost against his will, because he simply hated talking about his past.

He had chosen to break away from his roots for a damn good reason and talking about it just made it harder to try and forget. However, he had forced Valjean to speak about quite a few things he would have probably preferred to stay buried forever, so it was only fair for him to do the same. Besides, it wasn't as terrible as life in Toulon was. If Valjean could think back to those days, Javert could at least manage to reveal a few anecdotes about his childhood.

"I didn't know that," Valjean said, because he was apparently incapable of letting one sentence go without answering.

"Of course, you didn't. I try not to advertise the fact, thank you. But you must have known that some of my roots weren't pure French. It's hardly as if it doesn't show. The remark had (has) been made more than once since I came to Montreuil."

"I don't listen to gossip," Valjean cut shortly, because he knew only too well how a life could be absolutely ruined because of falsehood being spread. "And I guess I never really thought about it. You've got a darker complexion but then, just about everyone in Toulon does, guards or prisoners. I guess it just didn't strike me as strange that you hadn't lost yours since you've been gone from there."

Javert nodded to himself. Yes, he had to admit it had been the one thing that had been quite pleasing in Toulon. He had fitted in without much effort. Valjean was not entirely right though, not all guards had a darker tan only those who walked the most among prisoners but then, he supposed, it wasn't as if the man had been concentrating on them.

"Anyway, as I said, my mother was a gypsy and I did live with her for a few years, well until the beginning of my teenage years at least. I didn't like that life but you don't live among them without knowing what's going on in the clan. Of course, I was aware that such powers existed, even if they don't use them very often."

"I always thought..."

Valjean trailed off, blushing, and Javert frowned because what could Valjean possibly have thought to make him react like this? Then, of course, it dawned on him and he understood perfectly what the mayor was trying to say. Only that man would blush for something so ridiculous as that!

"You always thought they were charlatans," Javert finished for him, almost amused. "Yes, I suppose I can see that."

Unfortunately, what Javert thought would make Valjean more comfortable only made him blush redder. He really wasn't on top of this whole friendly acquaintance thing.

"You weren't wrong, not really," Javert admitted, taking pity on him. "They do have real powers, but they don't usually use them in front of outsiders. When you see gypsies in the street, telling people their fortune or selling charms, it's hardly ever real. They just tell you what you want to hear, they read your body language and guess what's going on in your life or in your mind. That's how they usually awe you with their 'powers'."

Valjean nodded, feeling somewhat better that he hadn't completely misjudged a whole class of people. Still, he was a bit peeved that he hadn't realized that there was a real power underneath it all.

"Is this why you're so good at reading people? Because your mother taught you?" he just had to ask because he had always thought Javert was particularly good at this exercise, even compared to other policemen of his acquaintance.

"Yes," Javert admitted, hating having to confess that he had participated in his mother's games before he had been old enough to decide for himself, because he had decided that he had to make the law his way of life if he ever wanted a chance to get out of the gutter. "My mother taught me."

He snorted when thinking about it.

"Of course, she never dreamed I would use what she taught me to become a policeman."

Javert shook his head at whatever she would have had to say about it. He knew it would have been far from pretty. After all, he knew all too well his mother's opinion about the men of the law. It wasn't very high.

"I'm sure she would have been proud of you," Valjean said because that was the platitude to be used in such an occasion but Javert was hardly someone willing to delude himself like that.

"Oh please, Valjean. You know nothing of my mother and her clan, or the life she lives. If she was to know the truth, she would probably disown me on the spot, so to speak. She would most certainly never talk to me again. I would be a traitor in her eyes but, since she will never know anyway, it doesn't matter."

"You speak of her as if she's still alive," Valjean said, frowning because he had thought the woman was dead.

Javert raised an eyebrow.

"Last I knew she was. Then again, I was barely out of childhood when I saw her for the last time and I've never heard about her since. I must have been about twelve, I guess, at the time. Well, I don't remember for sure but it was a long time ago anyway."

It was a shock to Valjean that a woman still alive would chose not to see her son ever again. Or was it the son who chose never to see the mother again? Valjean, for once, didn't feel like bringing up a subject that could hurt and let the question go unanswered. He was certain Javert could read his curiosity all over his face, clear as day, but as the inspector made no inquiry or further remarks on the subject, it seemed it would be dropped.

"So," Valjean spoke again, this time changing the subject completely. "You think that you have already fulfilled the clause of that curse so, logically, she would be willing to bring you back to normal immediately, wouldn't she?"

Javert nodded.

"Yes, I am certain she would be. However, the problem is that, for her to be able to do just that, we have to find her first and that's a more complicated matter. The whole clan has disappeared from the docks the day I woke up like this and I haven´t seen or heard of them since then. I have no idea where to even begin looking, especially now that it has been weeks."

Javert frowned, considering the subject more carefully.

"However, I think. Yes, I think that they would have stayed around," he revealed. "A gypsy like that old woman wouldn't just curse someone like that and go away, without seeing it through; to make sure I behave as expected. If it had been a vengeance, or a spell that was never supposed to wear off, that was supposed to last forever, then yes, probably, she would have left. But she had a goal in mind when she cursed me and she seemed intent to see it fulfilled so... even if the whole clan hasn't, she would have, at the very least, stayed behind to make sure..."

Now that Javert thought about it, he found it extremely strange that he hadn't seen the woman in these last few weeks. Of course, his attention had been elsewhere during his stay with Valjean and it was very possible he had completely missed her being around. It wouldn't even surprise him, especially with his troubles concentrating recently.

"So we're not looking for a clan," Valjean considered. "We're looking for a lone woman that should still be in Montreuil at the present."

"Yes," Javert answered because that sounded about right. "An old woman who would probably keep to herself and not socialize too much with people outside of the clan."

"Would you recognize her?"

"Of course!" Javert exclaimed, almost insulted by the question.

He was very good at recognizing faces. It was something that was extremely important in his job as a police officer. The fact that Valjean would doubt this ability of his was offensive to say the least. However, the mayor recognized the error and lifted his hand in surrender.

"I meant no offense but you have told your memories of that night aren't very complete. I wasn't sure whether or not you had seen her face clearly."

Javert settled down, mollified. Valjean was right. He had admitted himself there were many aspects of that night he couldn't remember and he hadn't really developed whether or not the people present of the scene were part of what he had forgotten. He probably wouldn't have let his temper run wild for so little an offense – in his mind if not actually in intend – if he had been in control.

"Sorry," he muttered, happy that Valjean was proving to be as patient with him as he had been with Etienne.

"I was thinking," Valjean continued as in nothing had happened. "That we could go for a walk around the docks and see from there if we can find something."

Javert nodded. It wasn't much of a plan, but he could hardly design a better one with the information he had on hand. At least it would give him the impression to be working on solving the problem. Yes, at least they wouldn't waste one more day, he thought as he was finishing his breakfast.

True to their words, the beginning of the afternoon saw them outside, on the docks, walking around with no particular road in mind, but going wherever the wind blew, not certain on where to look but unwilling to give up. It was too important and Javert knew he couldn't afford to give up at anytime. He had to find that woman and the fire that burned through his veins at the thought managed to make him forget the cold of the day that appeared more appropriate for a winter evening that the autumn afternoon that it really was.

He surprised himself by thinking that, had his life remained on a normal path, he would probably be spending his night in a cold room and barely managing to keep some warmth during the day, in his great coat, as he would be patrolling the streets. Living with Valjean, he had been very warm until now. The contrast made the cold all the more biting but he dismissed the chills that coursed through him as unimportant. They had a mission to complete.

Valjean appeared content to follow his lead for the moment, probably admitting to himself that, as an inspector, Javert was more competent for that particular task. He, however, let Valjean do the talking, and ask people about their missing woman himself. The people were more likely to talk to their beloved mayor than a child who couldn't give a reasonable explanation for why he wanted to find her.

They walked for hours, keeping going even after the rain started. Valjean had suggested going home and beginning anew the day after, to avoid getting all kind of wet, but he had eventually let Javert talk him out of the idea, to the Inspector's great relief. It would be ridiculous to let a little fall of rain stop them. After all, it could hardly hurt them. No, they had better continue for a while.

They did make one stop, however, to eat a little bit. It was only then, when they entered the inn, because of the shock of the warmth, that Javert realized just how much the cold had been numbing. They were greeted with a welcoming smile – something that had never happened when Javert came in on his own after his shift – and offered a good meal, which was very much appreciated after such a trying afternoon.

They had begun their search again, after eating, in the dark. It only lasted for a little while this time around, though, as Valjean had to catch him when he stumbled.

"Careful!" Valjean exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

As his little misstep was hardly enough to have hurt him, he assumed that the mayor referred more to the reason behind his loss of balance, which was something that didn't usually happen to Javert. Lord, he hadn't realized how tired he was until now, but his legs were beginning to ache and threatening to buckle under him.

He hesitated. Should he tell Valjean the truth, knowing that the man would insist to take him home immediately, no matter how much he protested against it, this time around? Or tell him everything was fine and try to stay on his feet just for a little while longer? He was tempted to take the second option but, knowing it was extremely unlikely they would manage to find something now, in the dark, he settled for the first one.

"I'm tired," he admitted with a sigh. "Maybe we should stop for the night and rest. Continue tomorrow?"

Valjean nodded gravely, unhappy that he hadn't noticed how tired his companion was, but he knew that Javert was very much apt at hiding whatever he wanted from him. After all, he had been fooling him for weeks.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go home."


	9. Book II: Javert Chapter III

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter III**

Valjean had known he should have listened to his instincts from the start instead of letting Javert's persuasive arguments sway him to his point of view. He should have known the inspector was too stubborn to admit defeat and delay their investigation, even though something went wrong, even though it had been the right thing to do given the situation. He should have known.

However, he had let his judgement be changed and had listened to Javert when he had argued that the rain wouldn't hurt anything and that they couldn't let something as inconsequential as that slow their progression. He had, therefore, allowed their search to continue well after it should have ended.

The consequences he now faced were his own fault, really.

As a man in his early fifties, he was still in good shape. His years of hard labor had, as surprisingly as it may sound, left him with a robust health. The rain had then, indeed, done no damage at all. He suspected it the same could have been said for Javert if he had been the forty-something year old inspector.

A six-year old child, however, was not so resistant and the long hours in the rain and the cold had, unfortunately, been too much for the little body to endure.

That morning, when Valjean had failed to see Javert come downstairs to breakfast at the usual hour, he had been a bit puzzled – considering how eager the man had been the day before, he would have thought he would have been up at dawn to go back to the docks – but not overly worried as he had attributed the delay to the exhaustion of the night before. It would have been perfectly logical and he had resigned himself to wait for a while before going to wake him up.

However, the more time passed, the more worried he became. It really wasn't in his inspector's habit to sleep in so late, and there was only so much that could be attributed to fatigue.

Finally, unable to stand not knowing anymore, he went upstairs to see what the holdup was. It was a good decision as what awaited him was nothing good, nothing good at all.

Even though the daylight poured generously into the room, the curtains having been left open as usual, Javert had not stirred from his sleep, which appeared anything but peaceful. The covers were tightly wound around his body, which he seemed to have done unconsciously if one could trust their untidy state, and yet, even though it must have been boiling hot under them, he was shivering violently.

Valjean swore.

It took him all but one second to cross the room and stop beside the bed, crouching at the side and putting one hand on Javert's sweaty forehead. He was hardly surprised by the heat, though he had not expected it to be so high. Worry skyrocketed through him.

Good Lord! That was some fever!

For an instant, he panicked. He had, of course, had experience with sick children – the seven of his own sister had often been ill as they did not always had enough to keep their body in good health but it was a very long time ago and he couldn't remember one time where their temperature had climbed so high. Then he calmed down when he realized that he wasn't the poor uncle who had been incapable to do anything more than putting wet cloths on their forehead to try his best to cool them down. As Monsieur Madeleine, he did have, thankfully, the money necessary to call for an actual doctor.

"Madame Antoinette!" he called out and there must have been more urgency in his voice than he thought, for the old woman appeared almost immediately, out of breath, in the doorway, having apparently run all the way there.

"Monsieur le Maire?" she asked anxiously, perhaps mistakenly thinking she had done something wrong, which was a notion she was cured of the moment her eyes took in the scene before her. "Dear Lord!"

"Send for a doctor immediately," Valjean ordered and if, for once, there was no 'please' in his sentence, Antoinette didn't appear to care about it as she hurried to do as she was told and then, without being asked to, she returned with a basin full of cool water and several washcloths.

"Thank you," the man told her, remembering his manners, as he dismissed her, telling her to wait downstairs for the doctor to arrive.

He didn't waste any time. Maybe the doctor would have something more efficient to do when he arrived but Valjean couldn't stay idle and do nothing at all at a time like that so he took one of the washcloths, wetted it in the water and began sponging Javert's face. He didn't dare taking off the covers, not when he was shivering so badly.

As Valjean applied the cool fabric on his skin, Javert seemed to, unconsciously, seek out the contact and he whimpered slightly when the man took it away to rinse it.

"Shush...," Valjean murmured, trying to soothe the distressed sound the child emitted.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking of him as a child. It was wrong, so wrong. However, at the moment, it felt right and, anyway, Javert was in no state to object or even to remember it later on, once he was feeling better. And, if by some kind of miracle he did remember, well... Valjean was hardly afraid of what he would do.

He continued to cool down his skin as best as he could until the doctor announced his arrival. Then Valjean simply let the man do his work, still hovering around, not willing to let his inspector alone with another man, not in this vulnerable state.

"This is a very bad cold," the doctor pronounced. "However, I do not think there is any risk of pneumonia to worry about as his breathing seems clear to me."

Valjean let out a shaky breath, relieved that his complete irresponsibility the day before hadn't put Javert's life in jeopardy, though the cold appeared pretty bad and the doctor didn't look particularly happy.

"What can I do?" Valjean asked.

"There is not much to do, I'm afraid, Monsieur le Maire, except waiting for it to pass on its own. The only worrisome symptom is the high fever, so you should continue to do as you did to try and lower it. If it spikes ever more, try to make him take a cold bath. It should do the trick. However, if you see you cannot manage to lower the fever, even with all of that, call me immediately. You also need to keep the boy hydrated, as he's sweating off his fever. Once he's conscious again, make sure he also eats something. He probably won't be hungry but he has to keep his strength up."

Valjean nodded at every word that crossed the man's lips and resolved to do everything in his power so that Javert would be once again on his feet as quick as he could.

Valjean paid the doctor and walked him out of the house before coming back to his charge and retaking his post and his work. He didn't know how long he repeated the movements without faltering but they became so repetitive that he almost fell into a trance, which explained why he startled so much when Javert began to wake.

At the beginning, there were only little movements, like the trashing of his head, and then Valjean who, after his shock had immediately set out to sooth him with whispered nonsense, believing him to be still out to the world, saw his eyelashes flutter.

The child's eyes opened and fell directly on Valjean's face. Instead of the dread Javert would have felt not two month ago at the notion, he was nothing if not peaceful about the man's presence. However, he felt weak, so weak...

"Val... Valjean ?" he asked, his voice failing him, as if he had still not completely emerged from whatever kind of sleep he was in.

"Shush...," the man shushed, a hand on his forehead and Javert didn't have the strength to protest against such liberties, especially because the hand felt good, so cool, on his fevered skin.

Instead of fighting Valjean about this way too personal treatment, he leant into the touch, closing his eyes as the brightness was beginning to hurt him.

"You're very sick," the man continued in a whisper, not wanting to talk too loudly for fear of doing any harm by breaking the almost religious silence. "You caught a cold yesterday, in the rain. You have a very high fever. The doctor told me we just have to wait it out but I need to fetch you something to eat and some water to drink."

Valjean cursed himself for not having had the insight to bring all he needed here while Javert was still unconscious, so he could have fed and hydrated him as soon as he woke up. However, helping cool him down had seemed more important at the time.

"Doctor?" Javert repeated, not certain he had heard correctly.

"Yes, Javert. The doctor. I'm going to ask Madame Antoinette for something to eat. I'll be only a minute, alright?"

Javert wanted to snort at that, to tell Valjean he was hardly an invalid, nor an infant, and that he didn't need to treat him so carefully. Unfortunately, all his rightful sarcasm refused to pass his lips and, instead, he merely nodded, the movement exhausting him more than he would have thought.

True to his words, Valjean was only gone for one minute. In this interval, he did not only ask Madame Antoinette for a light meal – a very light meal – but he also filled a pitcher with cold water and brought it back with him, along with a glass. As soon as he was back in the room, he sat on the side of the bed and filled the glass, handing it to Javert who, he had to admit it, was very thirsty.

The Inspector tried to sit up but his resources were so depleted he didn't manage all the way and fell back against the pillow, frowning, trying to work out the logistics of how to sip the water without pouring it all over the bed – and that was if he still had enough strength to at least hold the glass.

He didn´t have to worry about it, though. Only a moment after he was back in a lying position, and barely registering the sound of the glass being put down on the bedside table, that he felt an arm slip behind his back and Valjean, with all his considerable strength, lifted him up, sliding behind him so that Javert could lean back and still be upright, held up by his own body. The glass was put against his lips and he drank gratefully, not even commenting on the fact that Valjean was cradling him and holding the glass for him.

He was passive as Valjean asked Madame Antoinette in after she knocked, not even bothering to pretend being anything but a sick child – after all, it was what the woman thought he was – and he continued to be docile even as Valjean basically spoon-fed him. He knew it wasn't in his usual character but he was feeling so weak that he knew if he tried to do it alone, he would make a mess and need Valjean's help anyway. He could at least avoid the first part and concentrate on eating, no matter how little he actually wanted to ingest the food.

He managed to eat half of what was on the plate.

"Enough," Javert said, even as Valjean as once again filling the spoon.

Valjean frowned.

"Are you sure? That was not a lot."

"I can't, Valjean," Javert pleaded. "I really can't eat anything else, unless you want me to be sick."

The words were almost slurred. Valjean could barely make them out, but he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea to force Javert. He had eaten enough, he supposed, and the food would be more useful inside than out. He again held out the glass, letting the child take a few sips, before he so carefully put him back to bed.

"Go back to sleep," Valjean murmured, even as Javert's eyes seemed to close on their own.

Javert didn't even have time to answer. He was asleep before he realized he was being tucked in.

Valjean spent the rest of the day caring as best as he could for his sick charge and he hesitated when the time came for him to join him in Morpheus' embrace. Should he risk spending the night in his own room, leaving Javert unsupervised in this state, or should he keep vigil? Finally, he compromised by going to sleep, sitting down in a chair that he had dragged from the living room and put beside the bed. He would be there if the child needed help.

Good thing that he did.

It was well in the middle of the night when he woke up. For a few seconds, he didn't realize what had startled him out of sleep and almost closed his eyes again when his attention was caught by a moan coming from the bed.

His reaction was instantaneous. He was up in a flash, his hand finding Javert's forehead as the inspector appeared to whimper in his sleep, and Valjean's eyes widened, partly in horror, partly in terror. His fever had been high all day long but, right now, it was skyrocketing. He didn't lose any time.

First, he put one of the washcloths, cooled in the water that had stayed in the room since the evening, on the child's forehead, knowing it wouldn't do much but couldn't hurt while he prepared the bath. He took a minute to run down the street, grab the first urchin to pass by and give him a five franc coin to go and fetch the doctor, telling him the same would be waiting for him once the doctor was at his house.

Then, once he had finished preparing the bath, he lifted Javert in his arm, carrying him like a babe, and put him in the bathtub fully clothed. Rapidity was of the utmost importance in this case, and he could certainly take them off later and put him in a fresh nightshirt, as the one he was wearing right now had been already damp with sweat way before it was soaked in the water.

The shock on the cold woke Javert up, but the fever kept him in a delirious state.

"Wha?" he asked, blinking, trying to make sense of his surrounding and figure out where he was.

"Hush, Javert. It's alright. You're in the bath. I'm trying to break your fever," Valjean explained, not certain whether or not the man could understand what he was saying at the moment, but feeling better for explaining it anyway.

Javert was able to focus on the voice and, eventually, his eyes, searching for a source, settled on the figure in front of him, taking in the caring eyes watching him with worry, and his mind made the only connection he was able to in such an altered state.

"Papa?"

Valjean's breath caught in his throat. That was the last word he had expected to pass Javert's lips. He had been waiting for accusations, for the fever to wash away Javert's new attitude and point of view. He had been prepared to fight with the inspector to force the other man to let him help. He hadn't expected for Javert to cast him in that particular role.

"Papa?" Javert called out again, his voice smaller this time, as if he had taken the lack of answer to his question as abandonment.

"I'm here, child," Valjean said, at last, his voice thick with emotions, playing the part Javert had decided for him, in a bid to keep him calm. "I'm here. It's going to be alright."

He was still holding Javert, his arm the only rampart preventing him from drowning, and he used his one free hand to caress his forehead, his hair, his cheeks, wetting them, the touch both a reassurance and a way to cool him down.

Javert closed his eyes, feeling safe and cared for, not even registering the fact that his father was long gone – and had never cared for him anyway – and that the man that held him so carefully, so lovingly, was no one to him except his once enemy turned ally. He felt a pressure on his head and, in his fevered imagination, it was the kiss a parent usually bestowed upon a sick child. He let himself succumb to sleep once more, knowing he would be safe and sound.

Javert, even caught in his delusional state, hadn't been entirely wrong. Valjean had certainly kissed the top of his head, instinct having taken over for the moment and the need to comfort the child in his arms having become overwhelming, because that was entirely what Javert was at the moment.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that but he startled when the door opened and he looked up to see the doctor enter, followed by the _gamin_ he had asked for help. He managed a slight smile for the child.

"The coin is on the kitchen table, along with some bread and cheese. It's all for you," he said because, even in his panicked state, he hadn't forgotten his promise and he wouldn't have wanted the kid to have to spend all his money immediately just for food. "Thank you, child."

"No problem, M'sieur. Whenever you need," he said quickly, not wasting any time before scampering out and Valjean knew his kitchen table would be bare when he next went down there.

The doctor hadn't bothered with an exchange of niceties before going straight to his patient, attending to him and relieving Valjean of his duty for a few minutes, giving the man the chance to go and change the bed sheets and air the room for when Javert would be back inside. He made sure the fire was well-kept, not wanting to give the room the time to cool and he took another nightshirt from the closet, putting it on the bed before going straight back to the bathroom.

"Doctor?" he asked beseechingly, hoping the news weren't bad.

"The fever seems to be cooling down somewhat but it's still alarmingly high," the doctor stated. "I'm giving him a draught to try and get it down and I will call back in the morning to be certain it has taken effect. There is not much else I can do, I fear, but you had the right reflex. The bath helped him immensely and probably saved his life."

Valjean didn't really let himself relax at the news, as it was hardly what one could call good, but it seemed they had at least avoided the worst.

"Should I leave him in the water longer?" Valjean asked, watching with difficulty as the unconscious child seemed to shiver permanently.

The doctor shook his head.

"No, it's enough for the moment. If there is another spike of fever, do not hesitate. But it is manageable for the moment, so you can take him back to bed and make sure he's well covered. The best way for him to get better is to sweat the fever off. Do make him drink, even if he's unconscious as he needs to keep well-hydrated."

Valjean nodded and made a mental note not to wait for Javert's next bout of consciousness before giving him another drink. He knew how to make someone drink in their sleep, as it was something he had done for his nephews before – at least, he seemed to remember doing so, even if he could not fathom the exact circumstances.

"I will, Doctor. Thank you very much," Valjean thanked him profusely, appreciating the man's competence even when called in emergency in the middle of the night, especially considering he hadn't even made a remark about the fact to Valjean.

He was a man who was dedicated to his task and the mayor could only appreciate such a thing in his fellow citizen.

As the doctor was leaving the bathroom, Valjean appeared to hesitate. It would have been proper to go with him and see him to the door. However, he didn't dare leaving Javert sleeping in the water unchecked. The doctor noticed and took the matter into his own hands.

"I will see myself out, Monsieur le Maire. And I will call back at ten to make sure our patient is safely on the way to recovery. Good night, Monsieur."

With a flourish of his hat, the doctor left the bathroom and Valjean rapidly sprung Javert from the water, disrobed him, dried him up with the utmost attention, unwilling to risk aggravating his state by letting him be cold again and dressed him up. It didn't even register that he should be somewhat embarrassed to see his inspector naked, as it was the body of a child. Then he tucked him into bed again, returning to his chair but not letting himself fall asleep this time around, preferring to keep vigil until the next morning.


	10. Book II: Javert Chapter IV

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter IV**

Thankfully, once the night was over, the worst of the sickness that touched Javert was too. When the doctor came back, as promised, the fever had already been reduced to a somewhat more reasonable level. It couldn't be said that Javert was completely cured, however he was out of danger, unless he got careless and exposed himself once again to the elements without taking proper precaution.

Javert woke up during the middle of the afternoon and, while he was still a bit disorientated, there was nothing left from the delusional state he had been in during the night.

"Valjean?" he called out, when he realized that he was still in bed, even though the sun was shining outside, telling him it was the middle of the day, but not knowing how much time had passed since he last remembered.

His grumbling stomach told him it had been quite a while since that last meal and he realized belatedly he wasn't wearing the same nightshirt as before, even though he couldn't, for the life of him, remember changing clothes.

"Javert!" Valjean exclaimed as he entered the room, alerted by Javert's cry. "You're awake!"

"Your power of observation is simply astonishing," Javert muttered dryly, voice a bit rough, but stronger than it had been the night before. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday," Valjean answered promptly, having anticipated the question. "You've been out for about twenty-four hours. Well, you've been conscious during the night, but your fever was too high for you to remember I think."

Javert frowned, trying to jog his memory but Valjean was right, he couldn't remember anything. He hoped nothing too shameful had happened. However, judging by the fact his clothes had been changed, he wouldn't bet on it.

"Who dressed me?" he asked, almost accusingly.

Valjean refused to apologize or feel guilty about it. He had done the one and only thing he could have under the circumstances and he would do it all over again in a heartbeat if he had to.

"I had to put you in a cool bath, because of the fever. There was no other way to break it," he explained succinctly, in a voice that told Javert he shouldn't try to argue the point and, indeed, he was not.

He was certainly not happy to know that the mayor had had to take care of him as actually a child, without his acting the part obviously, but he couldn't blame Valjean.

"Thank you," he murmured, as if the words cost him a lot, but Valjean didn't comment; he simply nodded.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked and Javert acquiesced.

"I'm hungry, to tell you the truth," he said forwardly, not waiting for Valjean to ask the question, knowing it was not the time to try and be prideful but actually ask for what he needed. "Could I have something to eat before you go to work?"

Valjean blinked, not about the request for the food – as he had been expecting it due to the fact that it had been more than a day since Javert's last meal – but the other part. His inspector couldn't be serious.

"You cannot possibly think I'm going to leave you alone when you're sick!" Valjean exclaimed as if it was an aberration to even think of it.

Javert raised his eyebrow.

"I'm feeling much better. I assure you, you do not need to babysit me," Javert stated but Valjean wouldn't hear a word of it.

"It has nothing to do with your ability to take care of yourself. It's a matter of principles. You do not leave a ch- someone alone when they are sick. I'm not going to the factory."

The almost lapsus didn't escape Javert's notice and his eyes narrowed. He really didn't like the fact that Valjean seemed to be forgetting the truth of who he really was and he suddenly wondered if his sickness hadn't made things worse.

"I'm not a child, Valjean," he countered, his voice dangerous and Valjean lifted his hands up in surrender.

"I know, I know. I promise I haven't forgotten. It was just a slip of the tongue but I did mean a person. I assure you, even as an adult, I would tell you the same thing."

Javert scrutinized his face, looking for any trace of lies, but didn't appear to find any. He relented. Apparently, Valjean did mean that he would do the same thing for an adult and it... surprised him less than he would have thought some months ago. However, he couldn't let him do that. He was the mayor of the town, as well as the man in charge of the whole factory. He had already missed two days of work and was well within the third.

"You have to go. You're the mayor, you must have more important things to do than staying home with me. If anything happen, there is always Madame Antoinette."

"No I don't."

Javert blinked. Then frowned. Then argued.

"What do you mean you don't? How can you have nothing else to do?"

That was impossible and he didn't abide with Valjean lying to him now. The man had been honest to a fault up to now and he wasn't going to let that change just because he caught a little cold.

"Of course I have other things to do, but that was not what you said. And I can safely say, I have nothing _more important_ to do," Valjean repeated, insisting of this point and Javert found himself speechless.

How could the man even believe for one second that he was more important than the rest of the town because, in the end, that was what he was doing, choosing to take care of him instead of doing his job and taking care of the whole town at once. However he could see in his eyes that the man wouldn't relent. He was stubborn and would probably insist on staying with him until he was completely back on his feet and that just wouldn't do.

Javert still nodded.

"Alright, I won't say anything else about you staying here, _today_. But tomorrow, you're going to the factory and-," he continued, raising his voice as the man was apparently going to argue with him once again. "I'm coming with you."

Valjean shut his mouth, swallowing the argument that he was going to advance and frowned, seeming to think about the proposition.

"Are you sure it's a good idea? Would it not cause you to be sicker again?" Valjean asked, not really sure he remembered how well children got better once the worst was over, his memories too thin to be more than just flashes.

Javert shook his head.

"I'll be alright tomorrow, perhaps still a little more tired than usual but it's hardly something to worry about if I'm staying at your office. I will just have to be careful not to be cold again and... warn you if I'm feeling chills."

The last part was said in a whisper, some part of him embarrassed because he had known he was too cold the day they had been out and if he had only listened to Valjean instead of shutting his body out and insisting everything was alright, that they could continue, he would never have been sick in the first place. He had known all along he should have listened but hadn't wanted to give in.

Valjean, apparently hadn't realized that he had. He had simply thought the cold had sneaked up on Javert instead of being deliberately ignored for the better part of the day. His eyes turned severe.

"Yes, you will," he said, his voice letting no place to argument, even if Javert had been wanting to say anything of the sort.

He acquiesced despondently, lowering his eyes under the almost-glare that was directed at him, showing once again the urgency of finding the gypsies before there was nothing left of the man he once was, except for memories.

Valjean's gaze softened and he almost cursed under his breath about his continuing failure to remember, first that Javert was an adult, then when he did remember that part, that he was beginning to feel the same emotions a child would.

"I'll go get something for you to eat and drink and if you're still feeling better tomorrow, then I'm taking you with me to the factory," he said, getting up to do just as he said.

"Valjean!" Javert called as he was reaching the door and he turned back questioningly. "Thank you."

Valjean smiled at the obvious afterthought.

"You're welcome."

To say that the workers and the foreman were surprised when the mayor showed up with his little guest in tow was an understatement and the whispered gossip spread rapidly around the tables. However, no one made any remark to the man in question, or the child who stayed so quiet and so well-behaved in the boss' office. Besides, it was heart-warming for a good part of the employees to see their boss not on his own for once. Most of them were grateful he had found someone to spend time with, as he had always seemed so lonely before.

Javert had to admit that part of the reason he had wanted to go to the factory with Valjean had nothing to do with getting the man working once again – though it had been his primary concern – but because he was bored out of his mind by staying home, especially now that he didn't have anything more to investigate in Valjean's house. However, it turned out that his day at the office was hardly more exciting and watching Valjean's work did nothing to ease the feeling of absolute uselessness that was beginning to be his daily routine.

He chose not to say anything about it to the mayor though, for fear it would make him decide not to stay and, therefore, render his insistence to come and suffer here through the day completely moot. No, he would simply have to bear it until the end of the day which, thankfully, was not going to be for very much longer.

He curled himself down in the chair he had requisitioned as his own, thankful that for once Valjean had decorated the room as it was proper for a man of his standing instead of the bare necessities he used at home. He supposed it was not to raise questions from the people who would be visiting the office during his working hours. Javert didn't even notice when his musing became muddled and he finally succumbed to sleep, his tiredness not having completely disappeared from the previous days, as he had warned Valjean the day before.

Valjean did have plenty of work to make up for, as he had already missed three days. Being mayor was not exactly without problems and he had to admit, he feared to think how much he would have had to do had he continued to stay home, without Javert's insistence. However, he was now putting a final point to his day and, once he put his pen down and turned to his guest, ready to tell him he was done, he stopped right in his track and let a small smile grace his face.

Javert was currently asleep, curled up in his chair, seeming without a care in the world. Valjean frowned, hesitating about waking him up because he certainly needed the rest. He could not stay there, though, and he wasn't sure Javert would appreciate the alternative. Oh, well, he could always berate him once he woke up.

Carefully, without a sound, he approached the little figure and lifted him up, an arm under his tights and arranged for the child's arms to come rest around his neck so that he could carry him with one arm only. Javert stirred in his sleep, opening slightly his eyes, but Valjean shushed him before he had time to completely waking up.

"Shush... Go back to sleep, it's alright," Valjean whispered and, while a few weeks ago Javert would have immediately fully woken up at such an order, now he only went straight back to sleep, snuggling without even realizing it against Valjean's shoulder.

Thankfully, there was no one left in the factory to see the spectacle and Valjean quickly made his way through the streets, ignoring all the eyes lingering on him, curious about what was going on and just how close the man was to the child he had taken to work with him that day. And, amidst all of these wondering glances, one persisted as long as the mayor and the child were still in view.

Watching carefully, making sure the child was not faking sleep but was actually soundly in the realm of dreams, the old woman smiled to herself. It was time to carry out her promise.

Valjean had barely put his nose outside, the following day, that he heard the whole town buzzing about the group of gypsies being back on the docks, just as before. People were complaining, even though there had been no theft of any sort reported and that, for the moment, all the gypsies had done was park their caravans and nothing more. As the rumors circulated around them, Valjean looked at Javert who was walking at his side, having decided to come to the factory with him once again. Javert nodded.

He had realized immediately that the gypsies had to be the same and the fact they revealed themselves now, as if they had never left, meant that the old woman who had put the curse on him had apparently decided he had learnt the lesson she had set out to teach him and thought it was time for the enchantment to be lifted. However, unlike the moment she had chosen to curse him, it was apparently his decision to make.

It should have been easy. It was easy to tell Valjean they had to go immediately but, privately, in his thought, as both of them changed their course to the docks, he was reeling, fighting his doubts, his hesitation and his anxiety. He should have been jumping of joy, but all he could think about was: what was going to happen once he was back to normal?

He had, without even realizing it, let Valjean become an integral part of his life, not as an obsession to be caught as before, but as someone who was there, beside him, during the day, someone he could talk to, listen to or simply coexist with, in the same room, quietly, comfortably. Was all this going to disappear once he was an adult once again, once he was back to his post and in a position of authority, somewhat having the power to decide about Valjean's fate?

It was one thing for the man to be so at ease with him, even knowing who he really was, when he was a child, because there was nothing a child could do with the knowledge he was an ex-convict on the run, nothing a child could do to convince the authorities that the mayor of a town was someone who should be thrown into jail. However, even with his reassurance to Valjean he would not bring him back before a court, the balance of power would tip off and who knew how Valjean would react to it. He would probably lose the only person on this earth he could have called a... friend, he guessed the right word was, as strange as it may have seemed. He had a lot of acquaintance, but none of them had ever come closer than that, except for this once.

However, friends may not have been the right word, because it included a relationship on an equal footing. He knew it wasn't that. He knew that Valjean, for all the respect he gave Javert even in this form, could not completely dissociate from the fact that the person in front of him was barely six year old, at least physically, and the effects of the curse had made Javert look upon quite a few of Valjean's actions as someone would observe a father's action. He had behaved how Javert had always imagined – when he had allowed himself to imagine it, a long time ago, back when he had nothing in the world to occupy his thoughts – a father would act towards a cherished child. And it had been good, and no matter what may happen now, he knew it would end.

The thought made him stumble, so desolating it was, and Valjean immediately picked up on it, turning worried eyes towards him.

"Javert?" he asked in a whisper, not allowing his voice to carry for fear that someone else would hear and ask too many questions he would have no answer to give to.

"It's nothing. I guess I'm just wondering where we will go from here, Pa- Valjean," he said, the words faltering on his tongue and blushing at what he had almost said after being interrupted while he was having such thoughts.

Valjean didn't miss the slip and almost gasped out loud due to the emotions it made rise inside him. Last time, it had happened in the middle of a delirious episode, brought on by a fever, and could therefore be explained by this, by the fact that Javert hadn't really known where he was and with whom. This time, though, there was nothing to justify it except, perhaps, feelings and emotions mixed up with the effects of the curse.

"You... you have called me that before," Valjean admitted quietly, letting his hand rest on the head of the child, somewhat possessively, wondering whether he would be rejected or not.

"I did?" Javert asked, not remembering such an occasion but not shaking his head to make the hand go away. "I-"

He wasn't sure how to admit to Valjean that he had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about but he shouldn't have worried.

"It was during your fever, I know you don't remember much from that time. It... it won't change anything," Valjean continued. "When you're back to normal, it won't change anything if you don't want it to."

The words were barely whispered, Valjean not having dared to imagine any relationship continuing between them once the curse had been lifted. He had been already sure that Javert choosing not to report him immediately was almost too much to ask, even if the decision had been his alone, not influenced by any sort of plea from him.

"You promise?" Javert asked, looking straight ahead, not capable of looking at his interlocutor.

He felt Valjean's hand slip from his head and instead reaching out for his own and squeeze slightly.

"I promise."

There were no more words after that, as they finished making their way to the docks. Valjean was already wondering how they would ask for the right person once they were at the place but they had barely set foot in the camp that they were accosted by a young woman, with a brilliant smile that belied her poverty and lighted up her whole face.

"She's waiting for you, Inspector," she said, looking at the child with too knowing eyes and an unnatural ease for calling him by his title even when looking at him in such form. "Come with me. I'll take you there."

They followed her through the maze of caravans, Valjean looking around with curiosity as he had never had the occasion so visit such a camp and imagining the child he still held by the hand running around in such a place. He found it difficult to consider the fact that the man he had known as his inspector could have grown up in such a climate and still become the man he was.

When they arrived at their destination, they both entered the caravan indicated to them and Javert recognized immediately the face he had seen the night of the riot. She looked at Valjean first, a small smile widening the lines of her face but making her seem younger nonetheless.

"May you wait outside, child," she said and Valjean, even when such an appellation seemed so far from the truth, knew that she was talking to him, for he was still very much younger than her, even at his age.

He looked worriedly at Javert, who seemed to understand the trouble and squeezed the hand holding his once, before letting go completely.

"I'll be fine," he reassured and watched as Valjean left without another word, promising silently to wait just outside, before turning to the woman. "Madame."

She smiled at the greeting, far more polite than when they had met before and she nodded once, solemnly.

"It is time to reverse what has been done," she stated simply, matter-of-factly. "May what you have learnt stay with you beyond the day."


	11. Book II: Javert Chapter V

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter V**

Javert was fidgeting as he took the last few steps towards Valjean's house.

They had gone their separate ways after they left the docks the day before, the gypsies already beginning to pack their belongings, as if the only reason they had set foot in Montreuil-sur-Mer once again was for the old woman to release him from her curse. For all he knew, it had been. Javert and Valjean had decided – well, Javert had decided and Valjean had agreed grudgingly – that it would be for the best if the inspector went back to his own lodgings for the rest of the day and the night, to regain his bearings as an adult. Since Valjean had made sure his apartment would be waiting for him, there was no problem. He had promised to show up the morning after, though.

When he had gone back to his own rooms, he found the place as he had left it. It had been taken care of, no dust had gathered and whatever he had left out that morning, before his last shift, had been put back in its place thanks to his landlady but, otherwise, there was no difference. However, it had felt extremely different to Javert.

Had he ever felt so lonely in this place before? He couldn't remember but, for the moment, the place seemed devoid of all warmth, even with the fire going strong, and empty, so empty. He had lived his whole life alone without any problem, but now that he had gotten used to Valjean's presence, it seemed like the walls were closing in.

Still, he found a way to pass the evening, knowing he would have to prepare everything for the next few days, once Valjean and he had worked out everything about what was going to happen in regard to his job. He really hoped Valjean's ruse had worked in order to let him keep his place because he had no idea what he would do if it didn´t.

Once he had finished putting everything in order, the night had already fallen and, after a light supper his housekeeper had prepared, he found himself going to bed early, as to not finish the candle completely, since he would need it in the morning to dress himself. The night was not peaceful at all. Tossing and turning, he couldn't find any sleep, his mind a whirlwind, thinking about Valjean's promise and wondering if it could actually work out that way or if his reappearance would somehow make everything too difficult.

Needless to say that, come morning, he was hardly well-rested. He knew that Valjean would take one look at him and notice, of course, but what other choice did he have than to do as he had said the day before. He was a man of his words, after all, and he knew that if he did not turn up when he was supposed to, the mayor would simply come looking him at his lodgings and it would change nothing, except for informing Valjean of his hesitation.

So there he was, at the door, finally gathering the courage to knock. He waited for a few moments and it was Valjean himself that came to open the door, immediately, as if he had just been waiting for the knock. For all Javert knew, he had. Maybe the man had seen him approach and had waited patiently until he had finally taken the last few steps. However, Javert did not want to think about that.

"Good morning, Monsieur le Maire," he said politely, taking off his hat and he entered the home as Valjean let him in.

Valjean swallowed. They hadn't had much time together after Javert's transformation back to an adult state the day before and it was strange to have him in front of him without being afraid of being recognized. Still, it seemed wrong for the man to call him that once again.

"Inspector," he said in answer, keeping the tone as formal for the moment, not wanting to aggravate him. "You can still call me Valjean. I... as I said, nothing has to change if it's your wish."

"I... Of course, Valjean. You'll have to call me Javert, then," he proposed in return. "Though I will continue using your title in public, I do hope you understand."

"When you're in uniform and on duty," Valjean countered. "Otherwise, Madeleine will suffice."

Javert wanted to argue but Valjean merely had to raise an eyebrow for him to concede and nod his approval.

"Are you alright, Javert?" Valjean asked once these formalities were over, looking at his guest critically. "You seem unwell."

Javert shook his head, resisting the urge to snort. Of course, he had already known the man would see.

"Merely tired," he reassured. "I haven't slept very well, that is all. Oh, do not look at me like that," he continued exasperated when he saw the concern in Valjean's eyes. "I'm hardly standing in my grave. A good night of sleep and I will be back in peak form once more, I assure you."

Valjean acquiesced.

"Alright, why don't you come and sit down," he said, showing him into the kitchen. "We need to settle on a story to give to the Prefect about your absence and return."

Yes, that would be one of the reasons they were meeting that day. They needed to have versions of the events that coincided with each other completely or the Prefecture would not only fire Javert but they might decide to look into Monsieur Madeleine's past more carefully, something they really wished to avoid, both of them. If the truth came out and how they had complotted together, it would be disastrous for the both of them and they would probably be sent to Toulon together.

"What exactly have you told them?" he asked Valjean because with everything they had had to do since he had revealed his identity, he didn't have time to really ask that of him yet.

"I've heard rumours of a group of bandits, in the mountains, a few dozen kilometres away from here. It's not in a city, or a town and therefore no one is really doing anything about it but, considering their attacks have been closing in towards Montreuil, I've been worried about it. Of course, they wouldn't be aware of that as people who have been targeted had known that the authority would do nothing except telling them passing outside of regular roads was dangerous."

"So, worried about a band of dangerous criminals, you have sent me there to investigate and, if necessary, arrest these men," Javert understood, even if he didn't quite like the fact that Valjean was right about the crimes not being investigated so far from the official roads.

However, the police force could not always find the time and the resources to investigate and if people stayed on the frequented roads, the criminality would be less high.

"Yes, they have been there now, looking for you, however they found no trace of you, nor of the bandits," Valjean stated, grimacing because they had never been any trace to be found and he was feeling guilty of wasting their time; however, he knew that these roads were actually often the target so he had calmed his conscience by telling himself that, maybe, they would be able to arrest a few criminals and prevent some good people from being mugged.

"And my absence? My silence?"

"You found them. However, they were a group and you did not have time to request backup. They roughed you up pretty badly, however stopped short of killing you," Valjean continued, then frowned. "I... haven't been able to come up with a good reason."

Javert looked absolutely unperturbed at the thought of his own beating and almost death. He was thoughtful, trying to arrange the story to fit the reality of what could have happened in real life.

"Have these people been known to kill before or simply attack with violence?" he asked of Valjean.

"I... haven't actually mentioned one way or another, only that there was talk of attacks and a dangerous band of criminals but..."

"No, that's good. They are known to be prone to violence but have never taken a life. Not only does it say why they have not killed – because this is a line they will not cross, but also why the Prefecture hadn't heard of it. It's one thing that people are not reporting an attack to the right authorities but a death? No they would have known."

Valjean nodded and it seemed pretty obvious now that Javert had said it. He found himself thankful that he hadn't felt the need to embellish the story the most he was able to because it apparently would have been a mistake.

"So, they have roughed me up badly but, why didn't I send word as soon as I was able to?" Javert asked of Valjean.

"Because they didn't want to take the risk of you being able to make a request for backup before they were far away. Because of this, they dragged you, as you were still unconscious, a way away from your last location, in the mountains, in a very isolated place. There was, thankfully, a small creek not far from where you were, where you were able to find water to drink but you were extremely badly hurt and incapable of managing a long journey through the mountains for a while."

"And once I did, it took me some time to rejoin civilization. Once I did, I immediately sent a letter..."

"To me, as I was the one who sent you on your errand and you knew I would be worried and that I would also be capable of taking the message to the right authorities. You will have to write that letter."

Javert nodded. He would, indeed, have to write it and manage to make it sound like it was an official report.

"The man you asked to take the letter took some time to arrive and, by the time the letter came to me, you were already well on your way so I didn't have time to reply and tell you to wait for me to send someone. You arrived here last night, late, only a few hours after your letter, which is why I haven't notified them before."

Javert acquiesced once again. That was quite a believable story, if they didn't look too much into it. However, since the mayor was the one to tell it, they would probably believe it readily, and since Javert wasn't the kind of man to take off with no explanation whatsoever, it would give it credit. Yes, there was a good chance it would work.

"And trust me, you look tired enough that the story may be true," Valjean muttered and Javert felt himself flush.

Valjean wasn't wrong. He did look as if he had been put through hell. However, he would have preferred not to be reminded of it, as he knew there would probably be quite a few subsequent nights where he wouldn't sleep well, the time for him to get used to being alone again.

"I'm going to get you some paper and ink," Valjean said after a beat, not noticing the trouble his sentence had caused.

It took no great amount of time for Javert to come up with a believable letter. He made sure his writing was a bit shaky, so that it would betray a weakness in the writer when he was penning it but otherwise, he sounded like he would have at any given time he had to address a mail to his superiors. Once it was done, Valjean slid the letter in an envelope and made sure to crunch it some and dirty it a bit to make it look as if it had done some travelling.

"I'll go to the Prefecture today," Valjean said and Javert nodded his thanks.

"Should I come with you or would you prefer for me to wait here?"

As it was a matter that concerned the affairs of the town, he had to bow to Madeleine's authority.

"Come with me," Valjean answered. "If they have questions, it will be easier and, that way, you'll know immediately what's going to happen. I'm sure it's going to be alright, though."

Javert acquiesced and fell silent. Now that this was done, they would travel together and go to Arras to meet with the Prefect. They would tell their story and, if everything went according to plan, he would be back at work as soon as they made their way back and everything would go back to the way it was before that gypsy had ever laid eyes on him. Except, of course, there would be no more need to detail Madeleine's movement as he did before, trying to catch him in a lie or bad action.

"Javert?" Valjean asked after a moment of silence and he seemed hesitant, as if about to ask something he wasn't sure would be received well.

Javert couldn't, for the life of him, fathom what Valjean could have to be hesitant about, not with him, not anymore. He wasn't the one who didn't know where he stood. He wasn't the one who had to be uncertain about what the future held.

"Yes?"

"Would... would you like to stay with me?"

Valjean was bracing himself for a refusal. He wanted Javert to accept, more than anything. He felt closer to the man than he had felt to another being for a very long time, since Faverolles actually. It may not be the little boy he had come to know as Etienne, or even Javert the child, but there was enough left of him for it to be still, somewhat, the same. And he didn't want to lose this companionship. Of course, he knew that for Javert, things would have changed. He didn't have the emotions of a child anymore to impair his judgement. Maybe everything had changed for him and he didn't feel like staying anymore.

Javert, for his part, had some difficulty registering the words because it was light-years away from what he had been prepared to hear. He knew that Valjean had said nothing would change between them but he had doubted it and, even if it had been as he said, he didn't think it would extend to the point of having the man offering his hospitality still.

"I... what?"

"Would you like to stay here? You have your room. If it's something that would please you, I would like very much for you to stay."

Valjean was looking at him in earnest and, while Javert knew that he should say no, he really wanted to say yes and was trying to grasp at straw to find a reason, a good reason, that would prevent him from doing something so unbelievably stupid, even when he so wished to.

"What would we say to others? It would be indeed very strange if we started living together out of the blue like that."

The question was asked absent-mindedly, as if he wasn't certain he wanted to ask but because it was necessary. However, Valjean simply shrugged.

"You have been through a lot recently and, as the one who sent you on this errand in the first place, and therefore the one indirectly responsible for what happened, I would feel better if I could keep a close eye on you until I am sure you are completely healed, both physically and emotionally, from your ordeal."

The excuse tumbled from his lips easily, as if he had thought about it during the night, knowing he was going to ask Javert to stay and knowing he had to have a good reason for suddenly having his inspector living with him without arousing any suspicion or unanswerable questions.

"I...," Javert began, not sure what he was going to say: ask another question, tell Valjean no one would believe it, say it is a bad idea.

None of this was what came through in the end.

"I would like that very much, Valjean," he said, telling the truth, unable to keep the hope from his voice.

"Good, good," Valjean said. "That's good. I'm glad."

Javert nodded, in a daze, unable to believe that this was really happening. He had never dared to hope for this and now he didn't know what to do or what to say. Was he supposed to take all of his belongings from his lodgings and put them in the room he occupied in this house? Or should he keep them there because, not only did they have to maintain the illusion it was only temporary, but in the case it didn't work out? It would be quite difficult indeed to find another place to stay, should he ever wish to, especially with his reputation in town, a reputation he didn't have when he first arrived.

He was happy, though. Happy that the man who had been taking care of him was going to go on doing it. He frowned inwardly. What was he thinking? Of course, he wouldn't be taking care of him anymore. They would be friends and only friends from now on. There would be no more parenting going on, not even the little things that had continued to happen after Valjean was told of his real identity. He was an adult now, and there would be no more reason for the man to act as a father.

It was only logical and should have been comforting, so why did it feel to Javert was if he was losing something very important to him? Why did it feel as if he was being made an orphan again?

He didn't have the answer and he was so caught up in his thoughts that he completely missed Valjean getting up and walking closer to him, stopping right beside him. When Valjean addressed him, he startled and looked up at the man standing so very close.

"You should go pack for a few days and I will do the same. I'll hire a coach to get us to Arras. The sooner we leave, the sooner everything is done and we can rest easier. Why don't you meet me at about twelve? We can have a meal before we depart and still make good time to Arras."

Javert nodded his agreement to the plan, somewhat relieved he didn't have to plan the whole deception himself because it just didn't feel right to lie. However, he knew he had to do it if he wanted to keep his job, that he couldn't tell the truth. So he was very grateful Valjean took the lead on this one.

He had been looking at Valjean still when the other man did something so unexpected Javert couldn't have reacted to it before it was done. Yet, Valjean did it so easily, so naturally, that he made it seem like a totally normal occurrence.

He kissed his forehead tenderly before walking up the stairs to pack.


	12. Book III: Fantine Chapter I

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**BOOK 3: FANTINE**

**Chapter I**

Javert could only read and reread the letter he had just received from the Prefecture of Arras, unable to actually comprehend the words written on the page, scarcely believing it could be true. It was simply impossible for such a gigantic mistake to happen, and yet…. What was he going to do now, was the real question. For days on end, he had been agonizing over the mail he had sent, waiting every single day for an answer he had hoped would be scathing instead of praising. He had received neither, but something completely unexpected. It was a conundrum.

It would have been so damn easy to simply tear that letter apart, scatter the remains and go on, pretending that nothing had ever happened, pretending he had never done anything so petty, and just forget the knowledge that was just given to him. He knew, though, that if Valjean were to ever discover he had done so, ever found out what had happened someway, and that Javert had known all along and hid it from him, he would never forgive him. No, he couldn't pretend that letter had never existed, no matter how much he wished to.

He had to tell Valjean everything.

It all began one night, when Javert was out patrolling in the streets, doing only his duty. If the people of Montreuil had believed for one instant that his staying with their beloved Monsieur Madeleine meant that Javert had mellowed and begun to temper his application of the law with the same mercy the mayor showed, they were soon proven wrong.

The very first day he had been back on the job, after 'recovering from his ordeal', staying with Madeleine as they mayor now had the place to spare, since Etienne had found his family and went back to them, he had showed everyone that his way of doing his duty hadn't changed. He couldn't afford to do anything else, even though he had now a new attitude towards the world and the existence of more than just black and white. He couldn't afford to show any doubt about the rightness of his arrests.

It had created some heated discussions, more than once, between him and Valjean, once he came back home, especially as the man continued to try overthrowing some of the punishments, or simply soften them at the very least, but in the end, they had always simply agreed to disagree without it creating any lasting friction. They would go to bed and, come morning, everything was once more forgotten.

It was life, nothing more, and Javert knew that two people, especially two people as different in their beliefs as they were, couldn't cohabit for any period of time without any problem surfacing. It was absolutely normal and something he had expected before he even agreed to move in. Nothing had happened to trouble them overly, though.

That night was different.

Javert was drawn to the scene of the altercation by the raised voices and the crowd that had somehow formed itself around the two main protagonists of the drama. He immediately recognized Bamatabois, a very well-known man around town, and, taking a look around, he saw a prostitute, apparently pleading with him. The man was bleeding. It was hardly a serious wound, barely a scratch really, but it was enough to prove she had injured him and, looking at her, detailing her from head to toes, he wasn't able to find a single injury that could have meant she had acted in self-defence. Furthermore, there was no one in the crowd ready to come forwards to her defence. All in all, his duty was very clear-cut.

He proceeded then with the arrest, at the demand of her victim – an exaggeration, maybe, considering the fault but there was nothing he could do since the victim had complained – and he didn't listen to her pleading, something about a sick child. Maybe it was the truth, maybe it was just a lie; it didn't matter in the end, since he wouldn't be able to prove it one way or another and, therefore, it couldn't be taken into account. He had heard these kinds of pleas for years and most of them later proved to be false. He couldn't afford to think about these so-called reasons, as he would be in danger of making the mistake of releasing people whose only motivations were selfish and were using fantasies to con their way out of paying for their crimes.

That was the moment the Mayor chose to appear on the scene. He had, apparently, been watching the proceedings for a while now, or maybe he had just been within ear-shot of the strident voices since he appeared to have heard her pleading and had convinced himself she had been telling the truth.

"A moment of your time, Javert," he interjected just as the inspector was about to march her to the station and Javert had frowned, silently asking for an explanation. "I believe this woman's tale."

It was the first time the mayor intervened straight in the street, in full view of everyone else. No matter how much he had disagreed with his inspector in the past, he had always had enough respect for him and his position not to argue in front of the people of the town and, perhaps more important, his colleagues. He had always waited for them to be alone.

"But, Monsieur le Maire!" he began to protest, outraged.

Valjean , however, completely ignored him and everything he tried to say, to defend his position and his right to accomplish his duty, continuing to discuss with the whore, even after she insubordinately spit in his face, accusing him of causing her fall. He couldn't believe the nerves of that woman! And the mayor still didn't do anything to punish her, instead he went on a guilt trip because he had apparently caused everything by not noticing his foreman had one day sent her away, that woman who used to be his worker at the factory.

Javert once again tried to protest but the mayor didn't even take the time to properly argue with him about it, option instead to scoop the whore up in his arms and tell him he was taking her to the hospital, not caring about the fact he was basically preventing a criminal to go to jail. There was no more word after that. A few seconds later he was gone and Javert was left standing alone, in the street, without even deserving a backwards glance.

The inspector immediately dismissed the crowd and his men, thankful that Bamatabois had left before the mayor had come over and that he, therefore, didn't have to deal with his anger at not being avenged, until he was left alone on the place.

The incident could have ended there, had Javert chosen, in that moment, to go back to the mayor's house, stay there and let his anger calm down a bit, fight some with Valjean once the man was back from his errand. It would have been uncomfortable for a while probably, but it wouldn't have gotten any worse and they could have worked past it without too much trouble. And, had Javert felt only anger, it would have most certainly happened just like that.

However, he was more hurt than angry and that changed absolutely everything.

It had been a very long time, longer than he could actually remember, since he had last let anyone get close enough to him to have the power to hurt him. It had been so long he had, in fact, forgotten the sensation. It was a most disagreeable impression and he quite frankly didn't feel like exposing himself to potentially more of it by confronting Valjean that night – he would probably end up listening to him preach about mercy.

Therefore, instead of going to the mayor's house once his shift was finished, he headed back for his own lodgings. They had hesitated to keep it when Javert had moved most of his belongings to the house, but had decided that it would help maintain the illusion of a temporary measure and, he had to admit, in that moment, he couldn't be gladder for it. If the landlady was surprised to see him, she didn't ask any questions, knowing only too well that he wasn't one for chitchat and confidence at the best of time, lest of all when his bad mood showed all too plainly on his face. She preferred to avoid a scathing reminder to keep her nose out of his business.

Once he was alone, he finally permitted himself to let the mask fall down, leaving his face a mix of confusion, hurt and almost betrayal.

At no point since the beginning of their cohabitation had he told Valjean to stop questioning him, no matter how heated their arguments became – and he could have, if he so desired, now that the man was not only known to him as the mayor but also an ex-convict – and they did have something akin to an understanding between them that any and all discussions on these subjects would be kept behind closed doors. Tonight, Valjean had simply chosen to humiliate him in public, without an ounce of remorse, without giving a damn about the effects of his own actions on Javert.

If he only had showed some interest, if he had at the very least looked back and seen the emotions playing havoc in the inspector's eyes, he may have told Javert to come with him to the hospital so that they could follow up on the situation instead of simply dismissing him and his opinion outright in front of his colleagues, who would be sure to gossip all about it in the future, maybe not in front of Javert but behind his back.

Had Valjean done that, then everything could have stopped right then and they could have avoided quite a lot of troubles.

However, Javert didn't spent the rest of that fateful night at the hospital, arguing with Valjean, but all on his own, in his lodgings, brooding and nursing a wound he had not been prepared to received at all. And when Javert's emotional state was compromised, when he was taken by surprise by the strength of his own feelings, his reactions tended to be disproportionate and not motivated by any kind of logical reflexion, only accomplished in the heat of the moment – something he had more than once regretted later on.

This was why he immediately searched his rooms for a piece of paper and his pen. He began redacting the one letter he had promised himself never to send. The one letter he had promised Valjean never to send. He wrote it quickly, determinedly but, thankfully, without giving all the sordid details of the affair, only supplying the recipient with his suspicions, as if it had been written before his little adventure as a child, just after he had seen the mayor lift the cart up to save Fauchelevent. He wrote it as if he didn't know for sure, but could only emit an accurate guess. This was the one and only thing which, later on, once he had time to calm down, salvaged some of his self-esteem: the fact that he had worded that letter as if, even in the middle of the maelstrom of emotions, he had chosen not to completely betray Valjean.

Of course, after he had brought it to the post house, knowing it would be sent soon, he went straight to bed and, even if it did take him a while to fall asleep – and that it hardly proved to be a restful night – it was more than enough to calm him down and, come morning, he realized that, even if Valjean had been wrong to address him the way he had done in public, he had completely blown the event out of proportions. He was still feeling hurt, but the violence of the initial sting had faded away, leaving behind only a dull ache and an absolutely horrified realization.

He dressed quicker than he ever had before and left the building with barely a nod of acknowledgement to the landlady, forsaking breakfast entirely, to walk briskly – and if he could have run without attracting undue attention, he would have done so in a heartbeat – to the post house with the faint hope that his letter remained there. Maybe there had been a delay and the postman had been unable to leave with it just yet? Maybe the man had misplaced the letter – it had, after all, been very late when Javert had brought it – and forgotten it?

It seemed, however, that luck wasn't on his side as the employee told him the letter had left, as intended, hours ago. It was, presently, on its way to the Prefecture.

Javert left the post house and walked back to his lodgings, almost in a daze, unable to believe he had actually done what he did after telling Valjean in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to send him back to Toulon. He had broken his promise, him who always prided himself in keeping his words, no matter the situation.

Now Valjean was in danger of being caught – well, at least, there was a risk because Javert had no way of knowing how exactly the Prefecture would react to his missive. Would they actually listen to his suspicion or would they simply dismiss them as fantasies? He could only wait for their answer to know that. It was absolutely useless to speculate at the moment and he had something else, something equally as important as that, to think about.

How was he going to tell Valjean?

He wished to think about it, wanted to reflect about how to phrase things in the best way possible – if such a thing existed in this occasion – so that maybe Valjean would be able to forgive him his transgression. However, for that to happen, he would need to have time for himself, time to be on his own, which didn't happen as he found himself confronted with Valjean on the path. Valjean looked apologetic and guilt slammed into Javert like a hurricane.

"Monsieur le Maire," he managed to greet as he found himself standing in front of the man, wondering if his voice sounded as strange to Valjean as it did to him.

If it was the case, Valjean made no mention of it.

"Inspector. If you have a moment before your shift, may I ask to speak with you in private?"

Had the question come before he had made his terrible mistake, he would have had a sarcastic reply ready for the occasion, considering Valjean's inability to wait for privacy the night before. However, after what he had just done, he hardly had the moral high ground anymore and could not force the words out of his mouth. The only action he could take was to usher the man inside his own lodgings.

"Javert," Valjean began maladroitely, as soon as they found themselves alone. "I'm sorry. I… not for rescuing Fantine, she very obviously needed a hospital. She's very sick. But I shouldn't… not like that. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Javert listened absent-mindedly as Valjean apologized to him about the way he had prevented him from arresting the whore – Fantine, as he didn't feel like dealing with Valjean's preaching should he ever slip up and call her that to his face – and he knew that now was the time where he should have told him about the letter, should have come clean. They could have worked something out. However, he had been taken by surprise by Valjean's presence and hadn't had the time to work out for himself all the implication of what he had just done. The words, the confession, therefore didn't come out. Instead, he found himself answering Valjean's statement.

"I know," he whispered because he had never thought for one second that his humiliation was Valjean's goal; the man had simply not cared at all.

He wasn't sure which was worse to be honest.

Valjean seemed to be waiting for more than that, though, and Javert just wished he would go away and leave him alone to wallow in doubt and self-recrimination. And he wished he would just tell him to come home and that everything was forgotten. He just didn't know which way anymore.

"She broke the law," he found himself saying, not certain why, his guilty mind weighing him down and preventing him from thinking straight. "She attacked a gentleman."

It was, perhaps, not the best way to continue the discussion, neither was it the moment for such accusations, but his mind was hardly working properly and an explanation was probably better than a confused silence.

"A gentleman who dropped snow inside what was probably the poor woman's only clothes, in the middle of the night, in winter, while she was already sick and all because she simply refused to sleep with him?" Valjean scoffed.

It did sound bad when put like that but Javert could hardly have taken the words of a prostitute against those of a bourgeois, especially when all the witness present at the moment of the even supported his version of the story. Unlike the mayor, he didn't have that luxury.

"She's really sick?" he asked, trying to avoid the argument he could see coming and stirring Valjean on another path.

Valjean nodded sombrely, unhappily.

"She's dying," he stated. "The Sisters don't think she will make it, anyway. I'm trying to make sure her child will be sent for in time for her to see her one last time. I've written a letter to the innkeeper in Montfermeil."

So there was really a child. That may actually make things worse. If she had been lying through her teeth, he would have felt better but knowing she was really trying to do her best for a child she had to support made his already guilty conscience even more fragile. He simply nodded severely to Valjean, unable to continue the conversation, just wanting for it to end.

Either Valjean felt the same way or he could read him better than he would have thought because his whole countenance changed and he put his hat back on, indicating his intention to leave. Javert led him to the door and was just about to say goodbye when Valjean turned to him.

"Javert. After your shift," he began and marked a pause, as if looking for his words. "Come back home alright?"

It was a plea more than an order and Javert found himself unable to do more than nod his agreement and he earned himself a smile to which he tried to answer. He wasn't certain he had managed but Valjean left and Javert was left to his own devices again, not knowing what was going to happen but knowing everything would change and soon. He leant against the door, closing his eyes, and prayed that the Prefecture would dismiss his letter without any inquiry.

Days went on normally. He tried his best not to act as if there was anything wrong at all and he was apparently successful enough for Valjean, who was so preoccupied by Fantine's fate that he wasn't at his best when it came to talking to Javert. He supposed he could have taken it badly but, in this case, it was really for the best.

He still hadn't found the proper time to tell Valjean about what he had done, not when the man was already so busy and had more than enough problems to take care of already. Yet, he knew he was only making things worse by waiting. The letter he had sent would not mysteriously disappear along the way and an answer was sure to come soon.

The answer finally came, today. After days and days of dreading it, it was finally in his hands and the content was so far from every scenario he had dared to imagine.

So there he was, in front of Valjean's door, clutching the letter tightly now that he had finally resolved his moral dilemma of what to do and decided he needed to tell the principal interested. He dreaded the conversation, dreaded Valjean's reaction but, with the words written on that page of paper, he had no other choice. It was the only way to solve the situation.

Valjean needed to be told immediately, before the trial ended, if he wanted a chance to be forgiven.

He finally took the final step and opened the door, the need for knocking or ringing bells long past. He strode straight to the living room, where he was certain to find the man at this hour and there he was, indeed, reading a book by the light of the fire, looking so peaceful that Javert hated having to break the moment.

He cleared his throat and Valjean looked up, smiling as he saw him. His smile slipped off when he saw how pale Javert was and immediately the book was forgotten in his worry.

"Javert? What happened? Are you alright?"

Javert nodded briskly, as he didn't have the heart to listen to Valjean's concern about him right this moment.

"There is something I must tell you," he said, looking straight past Valjean's shoulder and he braced himself, took a deep breath and began talking.


	13. Book III: Fantine Chapter II

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter II**

Jean Valjean was hardly a man prone to overreactions, unless the life of someone he cared for was in danger. His worry towards others could provoke him to such an extend however, otherwise, he was usually calm, managing to internalize most of his emotions and react in and a very tidy manner. After spending such a long time in jail, where emotional outbursts could be either punished by the guards or used later on against you by other prisoners, it was better to learn quickly.

Which was the reason he managed to keep extremely calm throughout the entirety of Javert's confession.

He listened attentively and, to an untrained observer, he would have looked simply engrossed in what was being said, without having any kind of feeling towards it. No, there was nothing on his face, in his behaviour or his countenance that betrayed one inch of what he was feeling.

Inside, though, it was quite a different thing.

First, there was the complete and utter disbelief that Javert had actually written to the Prefecture about him, after having almost sworn he wouldn't denounce Valjean. Knowing how much the man valued honesty and how much he took his promises seriously it was a shock to hear he had broken his words. He understood it had been done in such an emotional state that he was hardly levelheaded at the time and he could understand that but it was still difficult to digest.

Then there was the betrayal. For a man he had trusted so readily, whom he had become so close to, to betray him like that, over so little a thing hurt very badly. Since Toulon, he had been unable to trust anyone, not with anything but especially not with the truth. No one until Javert and that was how he was repaid?

Anger followed suit. Not only at what he had done but also at the fact that he had hidden his transgression for so long. If the Prefecture had decided to investigate without first sending a letter to answer to Javert, Valjean could have been caught totally unaware and would probably be on his way back to prison right now. Javert could have at least told him so he could prepare to leave at a moment's notice, to keep his freedom.

He finially settled on acceptance.

What had been done had been done and there was no way to change it now. The Prefecture had been told and had answered with what they believed to be the truth, which was that Jean Valjean had already been captured and was set to be tried again for his crimes soon. The surprise and almost relief he felt at this piece of information quickly gave way to the grim realization that he would never be able to live with himself if he stayed silent on the matter and let someone else take the fall for him.

He was so lost in his contemplation, lost in analysing his feelings and already trying to decide what had to be done about the man being accused of being Jean Valjean that he had failed to notice his interlocutor had finished speaking and was waiting for him to speak up.

"Valjean?" Javert finally asked after a moment of silence, unable to stand it, having studied any little twitch of Valjean's face hoping to find a hint of what the man was feeling but either but he was simply too worried himself to observe with his usual competence. In his current state he might see things that weren´t even really there.

The sound of his name, called in such a strangled voice, such a small voice, startled Valjean out of his thoughts and his eyes, which had stayed focused on Javert, finally saw again.

He detailed the man's feature and, unlike himself, Javert wasn't hiding anything. In any other situation, he may have tried, may have tried to look as if he was feeling nothing but he had apparently decided that he ought to be honest, not only in words but also in actions and emotions, and Valjean could only see guilt, despair, apprehension and resignation all mixed together.

He should have been angry still but, ever since the Bishop, he had never been one to give in to that particular feeling and the mix of emotions so easily readable on Javert's face finished to kill the last remnant of ire. Even after what the man had done, he never wanted to see such hopelessness on his face again.

"Alright, Javert. It's alright," Valjean reassured, trying to smile and unsure of whether or not he had managed. "May I see that letter please?"

Javert silently held out the letter, extremely crumbled-up) now that he had been tightening his hands around it during his whole tale, and waited for aljean to read it for himself, still uncertain of what was going to happen.

Valjean neatly folded the letter once he was finished and put it on the table, cautiously. He then looked up at Javert and decided that he would have to wait to be alone to think more about how the chain of events would unfold now. He knew what he had to do but he wasn't sure he would be able to actually do it. Not now. Not when he had made this place his Heaven or earth.

"I'm not angry," he began, reaching out to take Javert's hand in his own.

They hadn't really touched with affection anymore, not since Javert had been restored to his adult state, except for the kiss Valjean had bestowed upon him the day they had left for Arras. He had never been sure whether it would be accepted or not but, for now, he had decided to risk it as it seemed easier to reassure him that way.

"I know you didn't mean to do me any harm. You were hurt," he continued and Javert swallowed , looking down, as he realized that Valjean had correctly interpreted which emotion had made him commit the unforgivable – any other man would have thought it was anger, but Valjean knew better. "You acted without thinking and you have regretted it ever since, am I wrong?"

Javert shook his head. Of course, he had regretted his actions ever since. How many times had he wished never to have written that letter? How many days had he prayed for an accident to happen, so that his letter would be forever lost? However, it didn't change anything. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

"I've wanted to tell you before," he whispered. "I've wanted to tell you everything since the morning you came to apologize to me but I didn't know how! I didn't! I would have told you immediately if I had been able to find the words. I'm sorry, Valjean. I'm so sorry. Please…"

Valjean had squeezed Javert's hand as soon as his words had begun sounding more and more urgent but it appeared not to be enough to calm him and, when the flow of words ceased abruptly and Javert looked at him with eyes brimming with unshed tears, so reminiscent of the way Etienne had looked at him when he had woken from his nightmare, he simply tugged on the hand he was holding and opened his arms.

Javert only had one instant of hesitation, one instant when he asked himself whether or not he could do that, whether or not he could permit himself such childish behaviour, before instinct took over and he accepted the offered embrace. He knew he didn't deserve this, but he simply let himself be held for a while, let Valjean's hand trace hypnotic circles on his back, as if to stop some non-existent crying. He didn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry," he repeated again, as if he hadn't been heard the first time around, (make the rest a new sentence) as if he was waiting for a very specific answer before he could allow himself to stop repeating it, Valjean realized and he closed his eyes because he could give it, he could give absolution.

"You're forgiven, Javert. I forgive you."

Javert let out a shuddering sob and took a deep breath. God! Thank you. He was so relieved to hear that, that he didn't realize how strange Valjean's voice sounded. He hadn't realized that the man was way too calm, that his reactions were way too minute to be genuine. However, he was in such an emotional state that he couldn't see what he normally could.

Eventually, Valjean let go of him and looked at him with benediction.

"You haven't been sleeping very well," he said because he had actually noticed Javert's lack of sleep before now but he had preferred not to comment, thinking it had something to do with his job and he hadn't wanted to interfere anymore.

Maybe he should have asked. Maybe if he had tried to know more about the situation, Javert would have given in under the questioning and told him everything. They would have been able to avoid finding themselves in such a position. However, he hadn't done any of this and it was useless to think of the what-if.

"Not really," Javert answered truthfully. "I had too much on my mind."

"Then you should go to sleep now. You need your rest and I'm sure this evening has been stressful for you."

Javert nodded at that because that was an understatement if there ever was one, he thought wryly. Stressed didn't even begin to cover it and he supposed Valjean was right, he did need the sleep. Hopefully, now that he had confessed everything to Valjean, his conscience would give him the luxury to sleep soundly and restfully.

He got up from his place on the sofa and, with a 'goodnight' to Valjean, went to his own room, intending have a good rest to make up for all these sleepless nights up to now.

Valjean watched him go, maintaining his composure until the man was out of sight and, only then, everything he was feeling began to show on his face. He hid his face in his hands, breathing unevenly, not certain he could actually bear to do what he had to do. On a whim, he took once again the letter Javert had left behind and read once more the words as if, if he stared long enough, they would change.

Nothing changed though.

There was still a man in Arras, awaiting trial, about to be condemned for a crime he didn't commit. The theft he had been caught for would be punished anyway but, if he were sent to the galley as a parole-breaker, there would be no possibility of ever seeing the outside of a prison again. Did the theft of a branch of apples really deserve a lifetime in Toulon?

No, of course it didn't. And Valjean couldn't let the man go to the galley in his place.

But what would happen to the poor people of Montreuil-sur-Mer, to the factory's workers if he was arrested? They would probably find themselves in the streets again and everything he had done for the good of the town would be wiped out.

Could he really put his own peace of mind above their well-being?

The answer would have been no if it was only his peace of mind and not also the life of an innocent man at stake.

However, he had no right to play god, no right to decide whether he should save the workers or Champmathieu, as the letter said the man insisted to be called. No, the only thing he could do was to act the way his conscience would dictate and, right now, it told him he needed to go to Arras and stop the jury from sending a man who had done nothing more than a petty theft to serve the sentence of a repeat offender, parole-breaker who had already spent nineteen years in Toulon.

Considering the date of the trial, he had no time to lose. He had to be gone come morning but there was so much to do, in preparation. He had so many responsibilities but he knew that there was nothing he could do in so little time to make sure everything was taken care of. Besides, would his wishes ever be respected after he was found to be a fugitive? He very much doubted it.

Making sure not to make too much noise, not wanting to wake Javert up, he began his preparation because he still had some tasks he needed to accomplish before being sent to jail. He may have been about to denounce himself, that didn't mean he had forgotten the promise he had made to a very sick woman to get her child back and, since the innkeeper didn't seem about to give her up without a fight, he only had the option to go there himself. He would have to make sure to leave Arras before they could arrest him.

A few more days on the run and then he would simply turn himself in. Yes, it appeared to be a good bargain.

Then there was the money he had made as Monsieur Madeleine. He wasn't going to need it anymore after that, since he would never see the outside world again. However, he knew that if he made no provision for it, it would simply go to the richer and not those who needed it more. No, he would take it with him and hide it somewhere. Then he could give it to Cosette, to Fantine's child, to make sure she wouldn't suffer as her mother had.

Yes, that was the right thing to do.

The candlesticks, he would put with the money. It was the one and only thing of value he possessed and he supposed he could make it part of his gift for Cosette. Why leave it there, in this house? No one in Montreuil would value them as they deserved, not because they were made of silver, but because they were a saintly gift.

He wrote a letter to his foreman, to let him know of his absence. He had no doubt the truth would reach the town soon enough, but there was no reason for the factory not to keep working as long as it could.

He also wrote a letter to his notable, telling him what to do with the factory, fiving options for keeping it going even after he had left. He knew it was most likely not going to happen, the document would lose all of its value the moment the truth about his identity came out, but he could at least try. He was making a choice that he was certain would condemn hundreds of people, the least he could do was to try and make it less of a blow for them, any way he could.

He took both letters with him, intending to give them to the postman on his way to Arras and then began putting everything he was taking with him in a large bag. He made sure it wouldn't be large enough to be conspicuous, that he looked only as if he had a few days long journey to make and was simply taking some belongings with him instead of looking like a man about to go on the run.

However, he wouldn't take this bag to Arras. No, he would leave it at the hospital, as he intended to go and see how Fantine was doing before he left the town, in the off-chance he wasn't able to escape Arras before being arrested. He hoped not but he still had to think about the very likely possibility.

Finally, he was ready…. Or as ready as he could be, considering he was about to condemn himself to hell.

There was still one last thing…

Silently, he climbed up the stairs and went straight to Javert's room. Opening the door without a sound, he padded in, thankful that the man was such a sound sleeper, despite his profession. Now that he thought about it, it may have been more because of his profession. After all, when you had to sometimes be up at all hours and go several days without sleep, you had to be able to rest whenever possible and not be woken up at every little noise.

He stopped beside the bed, the moonlight streaming into the room by the open curtains, making it very easy for him to detail his features. He seemed to be resting peacefully and Valjean let a tender smile grace his face. He didn't blame Javert for what he did, but he was sad that it had to end this way.

Hoping not to disturb the man, slightly unsure of how he would be able to explain his presence and his actions without tipping him off if he did, he brushed the hair back from his forehead, his finger barely touching the skin, (finish the sentence here) he took a shuddering breath, knowing what he had to do but the necessity didn't exactly make it easier. However, he couldn't stay there any longer and delaying the inevitable didn't help anyone.

Ignoring the stinging of tears in his eyes, he leant down and kissed tenderly the temple of the sleeping man, barely managing to keep his emotion in cheek as he did so.

"Goodbye Javert," he murmured in his ear and Javert stirred, turning to face him, but never waking up, simply appearing to seek the contact between them even in his unconscious state.

With a last kiss to his head, Valjean straightened himself back up and left the room as quietly as he entered it, closing the door behind him and leaving the house for what was probably the last time ever.


	14. Book III: Fantine Chapter III

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter III**

When Javert awoke the morning after his emotional confession, he didn't immediately realize something was wrong. Of course, how could he? It was quite an ordinary morning. There was no strange noise, nothing unusual to warn him of what was to come. Nothing felt different at all and he prepared himself as he would have done any other day, unaware of just what was going on at the moment with his housemate. It was only when he got down to the kitchen he realized something was up. Valjean was not there.

At this hour, the time Javert usually came down for breakfast when he had a shift to get ready for, the man was normally still at the table. It was hardly in his habit to either leave earlier or to be still in bed.

"Madame, where is Monsieur Madeleine?" he asked the housekeeper, thinking that there may have been a problem at the factory that had required his immediate presence.

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur," Antoinette began. "Monsieur Madeleine was not here when I arrived this morning. I was given a letter explaining to me that he had business to take care of out of town for a few days and he had to imperatively leave yesterday night. He's not sure when he will be back but he did ask that I continue coming to prepare breakfast for you in the morning. Where you not aware of the situation?"

No, he most certainly wasn't aware of that. Yesterday evening? He had left just after telling Javert to go straight to bed then. What the devil was he doing? Did he finally decide to go and get the girl, Fantine's child, by himself? But, if so, why would he leave like a thief in the middle of the night? It made absolutely no sense. There was only one reason he would have acted like that.

Good Lord! Javert should have known. He should have realized what would happen the moment he told him everything. The man was going to Arras! To the trial. Was he insane? He could understand not wanting an innocent to be condemned in his place, of course, but it was pure madness for him to have gone himself. He could have simply asked Javert to go and swear before court that Champmathieu was not Valjean. Going himself would be taking an unimaginable risk and how could he even begin to justify being sure the man was not Jean Valjean. There was only one way to do so but even he wouldn't do anything like that, right?

He had to know. If Valjean was really intending to do something as ridiculous as that, there would automatically be signs in the house. He would have known before he left, there would be no way be could come back to town under the guise of Madeleine, even if he did manage to escape Arras. He would have had to take all his belongings with him.

Javert shot up, not bothering to finish his breakfast or giving any form of answer to the housekeeper's questions about what he was doing. He strode upstairs and straight into Valjean's bedroom, the one room he had never entered before and the first impression he had was that it was extremely bare. That, in itself, didn't mean anything. It was hardly strange considering the state of the rest of the house. He went to the cupboard, opened it to find it almost empty.

He closed his eyes.

Alright, now maybe the man had simply taken some clothes with him, if he intended to stay away for a few days, as the housekeeper had told him. It was still possible. There was another thing he could check, though, one thing that would settle the question for good. He decided to go downstairs.

He didn't search any room, except for the office where he had first found proof of Valjean's real identity. He knew the only object in his house the man cared about were the candlesticks the Bishop of Digne had given him. It was the only object he would have been sure to take with him if he had planned to leave for good.

Which was why Javert was not surprised to find them gone from their usual place on the desk. It didn't surprise him, no, but he couldn't help the hurt he felt at the realization that Valjean hadn't even said goodbye to him. He had pretended that everything was alright, that what had happened had no real importance, even though he probably already knew he would be leaving during the night.

He should have known. Everyone left. Of course, this time he supposed he only had himself to blame. He couldn't shift the fault onto anyone else. He was the one who had betrayed Valjean in the first place. It wasn't as if the man owed him anything, was it? He would have appreciated honesty but, seeing that he had waited so long before confession himself, why should he have expected Valjean to tell him everything he had planned to do.

There was nothing left to do now, except waiting for any crumble of news. Had Valjean left in the morning, barely one hour or two before he had woken up, he could have tried to make his way to Arras, to stop him before it was too late. It would have been difficult, true, but doable. Since the man had left the night before, probably barely more than one hour after he had gone to bed, it was now absolutely impossible to make his way there in time, especially considering he would never make it before the trial was over.

Javert left the office in a daze and returned to the kitchen, where Antoinette still stood.

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur?" she asked, worried, looking at his ashen face and wondering what he had found in his mad dash out of the kitchen to put that look on his face.

"Madame," he answered in what he hoped was an even voice. "You may go and there is no need to come back tomorrow morning. I will be going home. I am sure Monsieur Madeleine will give you further instructions once he comes back."

Antoinette frowned. The letter she had received from her boss had been very clear. She was to come to the house every morning to make breakfast for Monsieur Javert who still lived here. Of course, if Monsieur Javert was not going to be there, it would be a waste to come and prepare the good. She just hoped Monsieur Madeleine was going to be understanding and wouldn't believe she was the one who had made his guest leave. Though, she supposed he knew the inspector better than her and would therefore realize she would never have managed to make him do something he didn't want to do.

"If you are certain, Monsieur."

"Absolutely," Javert cut sharply. "If Monsieur Madeleine inquires, you can tell him I have gone back to my own lodgings for the foreseeable future. Good day to you, Madame. As I still have a key to the house, I will come back after my shift to get my belongings. I will give the key back to you afterwards."

Madame Antoinette nodded her approbation and let the inspector leave without any further discussion. She didn't like the way he was acting, the way he was talking. It seemed as if he was reacting to an emotional stressor but what kind could that be, she didn't know. She hoped Monsieur Madeleine would be able to make the situation better once he was back.

Little did she know that Monsieur Madeleine wouldn't be back.

Javert went straight to the stationhouse, for his shift, as usual. He could not afford to have any private business interfere with the way he conducted his duty. He had never let anything like that happen before and he didn't intend to begin now, no matter how strong the pain in his heart was. A man of the law couldn't afford to let his feelings get in the way.

He found himself immerged in his work and, if his even harsher than usual attitude confused the people of the town, they knew better than to comment about it, at least to his face. He had no doubt there would be gossips soon enough, linking his new attitude with Madeleine's absence and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the conclusion of all this would become. He didn't care, though. As long as he had a job to do, he didn't have to think about what was going on in Arras and it was simply all that mattered right now.

Life went on like this for a few days and he closed his ears off to any kind of gossips littering the town. Had he not done so, he may have actually managed to hear that Valjean was back a few precious hours before he actually did. It may have changed everything, had he been able to come face to face with the man before he received the order of arrest. There would have been no reason to hesitate then. He could have talked to Valjean and let him go without having to think about it. After all, he would simply have been having a conversation with the mayor of the town and then have gone on his way, blissfully unaware of the truth. No one could have reproached him for anything.

However, he had been at the stationhouse when Valjean entered the town again, working on the mountain of paperwork concerning the numerous arrests he had made the night before and, considering his mood of these last few days, no one had dared coming into his office to tell him Madeleine was back – mostly because he had never actually mentioned Madeleine's absence to his colleagues or asked to be informed should anyone have news about Monsieur le Maire.

Therefore, he stayed closed off in his office until the policeman who guarded the entrance of the station was given a letter to give to Inspector Javert with the utmost urgency. The poor policeman would have preferred not to have been given this duty, however he knew better than to waste any time debating about the task.

He knocked on the door and waited for an invitation, not daring to enter without it.

"Come!" came the barked order and Javert didn't even lift his head up from his report, knowing his subordinate would tell him what he had to say anyway.

"A letter from Arras, Monsieur," the policeman said. "It's extremely urgent."

Javert looked up and the policeman did his best to bear his glare, handing the letter and taking the curt nod as a dismissal. Once he was gone, Javert turned the letter with trembling hands, knowing it was the moment of truth.

He opened it and read it quickly, hoping against all odds that it wouldn't be what he had already guessed. Of course, his hopes were in vain and he simply closed his eyes, curling his hand around the letter. There had been no other option, really. He had known all along what Valjean had intended to do, he was simply astonished that the man had actually managed to leave Arras without anyone stopping him. He guessed the shock of Valjean's announcement had been useful at that point and that they had deliberated between themselves to guess whether or not the mayor was telling the truth. Apparently, they had decided that yes, he was.

And Valjean had told them he was coming back to Montreuil-sur-Mer. Which meant that, of course, Valjean was actually coming back. And now the duty of arresting him fell solely upon Javert's shoulders.

He had done his best not to think about that during these last few days, not to think about what it would mean for Valjean to denounce himself. Of course, had he even dared to imagine what would happen, he would have never believed he would be the one mandated to be the arresting officer because he had never thought for one second that Valjean would dare to come back to town.

And now the man had put that responsibility in his hands. Javert could have gladly killed him for that.

Hadn't Valjean thought about him at all, when he decided to do his little revelation trick before coming back here? Hadn't he realized what kind of position he was putting him in? Hadn't he understood the dilemma he left Javert with?

Should he do his duty and arrest Jean Valjean, even after having promised him never to send him back to Toulon, after having told him he would never see the inside of that place again? Should he arrest him even though he knew he was condemning a good man, an honest man, almost a saint really, to hell on earth?

Or should he deliberately fail in the exercise of his functions and let Valjean escape him? He would be disgracing his uniform, abusing his authority by letting his personal feelings cloud his judgement and his way of performing his duty and he probably would have to perjure himself by saying he hadn't done it on purpose if he didn't want to go to Toulon in Valjean's place.

Was he going to follow his head or his heart?

Which one of the two options could he live with more easily? Because no matter his choice, the weight of it was something he would have to carry for the rest of his life.

Would it be easier to know he had betrayed his duty or betrayed his friend ?

He didn't know anymore. A few months ago, there would have been no question, no hesitation. The moment he would have received the letter from Arras – and he had no doubt he would have received it because Valjean would have prevented his trial one way or another, he just knew it – he would have gone straight to the hospital – because, really, where else was he going to be? Javert knew he would never leave without going to see Fantine first – and arrested him.

Not for the first time, he felt like cursing that old gypsy woman.

Were the few months of the closest thing to happiness he had ever known worth the turmoil he was in now and would probably continue to feel for a long time to come? Was the enlightenment of his worldview worth every doubt he was sure to feel from now on? It hadn't been easy, even with Valjean at his side, and now it would be even worse. Hadn´t it been preferable if he had continued his life the way he had lived it until that fateful day he had decided to become Etienne?

The answer, of course, was a resonating no and he knew it. Because it was a revelation he was sure would have come at some point in his life – probably courtesy of Valjean anyway, he simply knew it, their fates were too entwined for it not to be – and he wasn't sure how he could have dealt with it if it hadn't been for the steadfast presence of the man who now caused all of his problems. No, he knew it was better this way.

He also knew he couldn't go through with it. He couldn't simply go to Valjean and arrest him. He wouldn't have the strength to do so and he wasn't talking about physical strength because he knew that Valjean would probably not even fight it, had probably even thought about surrendering once he had done what he had to do. But, mentally, emotionally, he couldn't be the one responsible for sending Valjean back to Toulon. It would simply shatter him to know he was the man who had condemned him to a lifetime of servitude.

The only choice he had was to let him go.

Could he live in this world composed of shades of grey without him, though? He didn't know. Ever since he had gone back to his post after the shattering of his old notions, he had had Valjean to rely on at every turn. Every time doubt clawed at him, Valjean was there. Every time he struggled with a decision he had made, Valjean was there. Could he have gone on without him? He didn't know and he found that he really didn't want to find out.

Maybe he didn't have to.

Valjean had been able to vanish of the surface of the world for years. The only one who had managed to identify him was Javert and if he was again in the line of mire of the justice, it was only because he had decided to put himself there. Javert was certain he could do it again and maybe he could teach Javert.

He could run with him, he supposed. Would his superiors even guess he had gone with Valjean or would they believe Valjean had somehow killed him and made the body disappear? Or would they simply believe his disappearance had nothing to do with Valjean at all. Maybe if he didn't pack, if he simply went along with none of his belongings with him, they would believe something had happened to him and would consider him dead. He could take on a new identity, as Valjean had done.

Would Valjean accept his presence? He had to, didn't he? After all, he had promised nothing would change…. He couldn't simply mean to leave him behind?

It was insane, but he would do it if it meant they could stay together. Resolved, he left his office in a hurry, knowing exactly where he had to go to find Valjean.

When he arrived at the hospital, the staff didn't look so pleased to see him. It was hardly something that surprised him. He didn't have the best reputation to help keep the patients calm after all and the nurses were always wary to see him come to interrogate one of their patients. He was apparently doing them more harm than good but there were times he simply couldn't wait for someone to be back on their feet before getting the information he needed.

He didn't really care though, and today even less.

"Nurse, is Monsieur Madeleine here?" he asked briskly, almost a formality, expecting to be sent towards Fantine's room.

The surprise came when the nurse he had taken to task simply shook her head.

"No, Monsieur, l'Inspecteur."

"What?"

He would normally be more careful about concealing his surprise but, this time, the word had simply escaped him. Because he couldn't have heard right. Valjean couldn't be anywhere else than here. There was simply no other choice.

"Come now, I know he spends all his time with that wh- girl, Fantine," he continued, thinking the nurse was simply trying to save her patient from his presence.

"Fantine passed away earlier tonight, Sir," the nurse informed him. "Monsieur le Maire was there with her when it happened, but he left soon after, with a bag."

She was suddenly more forthcoming with her information, thinking that if he was looking for Monsieur le Maire, he may simply leave once he realized that he wasn't there. She wasn't wrong and Javert would probably have left immediately if he hadn't been so much in shock. Valjean had already left and, apparently, with his belongings, which meant he had left Montreuil for good.

Without a single word to him.

No. There must be a way to find Valjean, before the police managed to do so. Because if Valjean wasn't in Montreuil anymore, then his arrest warrant would be sent to other police in the neighbouring towns and regions. Men who, unlike Javert, would want nothing more than see him back in jail. No, Javert couldn't let that happen. There was still one place he could look for him,

The inn where the woman had left the child. Monfermeil.


	15. Book III: Fantine Chapter IV

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter IV**

The inn hadn't been hard to find, especially for a seasoned police inspector, who was used to quite more challenging searches. Thankfully, he had been able to actually justify coming there all by himself to his men in a way that would not make them suspicious of his intentions or anything strange going on.

Of course, he had been forced to talk to them about the arrest warrant because, should he ever have to explain himself to the Prefecture, it would have been impossible to defend taking another decision. He had, however, told them he suspected greatly that the man would go straight to Paris, as reaching the capital of the country was the easiest way for a wanted man to lose himself and disappear. Valjean would wish to become anonymous as soon as possible.

Therefore, he had thought it would be best should they take the quickest road there, with an almost certainty to catch him, if not along the way, at least when he entered the city. If they managed to reach the capital without any sign from Valjean, they would only have to put roadblocks and be done with it. As it was the most probable scenario, he argued they should go there in number and, on the off-chance that such a man would actually keep his promise to a dying woman, Javert would go alone to Montfermeil. He didn't dare use any more effective for such an unlikely chance and he was, let's face it, the one who knew Valjean best and would, consequently, have the best chance to arrest him on his own. A better chance than any other policeman in the force.

No one had questioned his sound reasoning and everyone had scattered to obey their orders. They would go straight to Paris and give Javert the possibility to catch up to Valjean alone.

He could be thankful that Montfermeil was such a little town and there was only one place that could correspond to the one Fantine had left her child in. Of course, seeing the place, Javert had to wonder whether the woman had been stupid, blind or really that desperate. He hardly thought it looked like a respectable and upstanding inn, whose owners could be trusted to take care of a child.

He knocked on the door and, considering the looks he got from the Master of the House before the man had time to catch himself and begin his well-rehearsed little act, he was hardly the kind of man who thought he had nothing to fear from a man in uniform.

However, as despicable and dishonest he and his wife were, Javert was not only way outside his jurisdiction, but he also had other things to do and could do no more than commit their faces and names to his memories so that if they happened to cross path once again, he would not miss the opportunity.

"Where is the child, Cosette?" he asked gruffly, not bothering with niceties and only offering a glare when they tried to con him under the guise of offering hospitality.

"Gone," the man answered as his wife made a show of being saddened by the loss of the child she had taken care of for so long.

Javert was hardly fooled by the amateurish display and he didn't want to even imagine what kind of conditions Cosette had been kept in up to now. Valjean would have his work cut up for him with the child, considering the abuses she was certain to have suffered through in her short life.

"An old man, apparently a friend of her mother – god bless her soul – has taken her away. He didn't leave an address."

Javert rolled his eyes. Of course, he had barely missed them. That was absolutely typical. And of course, the Thénardiers for that was their name as he had made a point to learn, would hardly have anything helpful to say at all.

"How long ago?" he asked again.

"One hour, not much," Thénardier answered. "Why is it so important? Is that man a felon?"

He looked absolutely horrified, and probably would have wanted Javert to believe that it was out of concern for the girl. The inspector could see right through it, though, could see the interested curiosity of a man who was trying to gather blackmail material, on the off-chance there would be a way for him to use it in the future.

"No," Javert said simply, not giving any details before he, as insincerely as possible, took his leave. "Good night to you, Madame, Monsieur."

With that, he climbed back on his horse and ordered the animal in the direction of the main road, knowing now that the most likely destination of his prey would be Paris. He knew Valjean simply had to go there. He would have preferred to get to him on the way and not wait until then to find him, since it meant he had no way to warn him about the barrage and finding a way to talk and still make sure he could escape. It would be complicated, especially if he didn't want to implicate himself.

God, there had been a time when he had been an honest man and now, there he was, plotting the best way to help a fugitive escape his pursuers and keep on running, and make everyone else believe he had done his best to capture him. He almost couldn't recognize himself.

The ride from Montfermeil to Paris was already a long journey usually but, for Javert, it seemed interminable. He hadn't managed to find any trace of Valjean on the way but, then again, he supposed the man knew better than to use the main roads and there were so many other possibilities if one didn't mind the little alleyways no one usually dared to pass through. Javert could never have hoped guessing the right one. The only chance he now had was to be in Paris before Valjean, as there were only so many ways to enter the city, especially with the police milling around. Besides, he now had a child in tow, which was sure to complicate things for him.

When his colleagues saw him arrive empty-handed, they thought his little errand had been in vain. Considering there would be a good chance Valjean was spotted, if not caught, he had to tell them that the girl was indeed with him but he had simply been too late to catch him still in Montfermeil. With their profile updated, there would be a better chance for them to catch their man, which was hardly a good thing as far as Javert was concerned. His thoughts were running through the various possibilities.

On his way to Paris himself, Valjean's mind was hardly less in turmoil. Things had evolved so quickly since that night he had learnt about Champmathieu's trial that he hardly had had any time to catch his breath and think about what would come next.

He had first spent most of the journey to Arras in a daze, disbelieving about what exactly he was on the verge to do, what he would be condemning himself to. He had never done anything harder than speak up during that trial, objecting to a sentencing that would have happened without a doubt and would have saved him at the same time, look at the judge and tell him that Champmathieu was innocent, that he, Monsieur Madeleine, was indeed Jean Valjean, prisoner number 24601. He had, thankfully, been able to take advantage of the commotion his announcement had caused to slip away, not before telling them he was going back to Montreuil.

He had known at the time that he would once again be hunted down, had known exactly who it would be who would receive the order to arrest him on sight. He hadn't liked putting this responsibility on Javert's shoulders. However, he had no choice but to come back. Besides, Javert would know what to do. He would do his duty. He may have been willing to leave him be as long as he was not actively looked for but, after receiving an arrest warrant, there would be really no other choice, Valjean was certain of it. He had not planned to resist though.

He had planned only to go and tell Fantine first that he wouldn't be able to keep on visiting her anymore. That he would send someone to get Cosette away from the Thénardiers and bring her back to her mother. Once that was done, he would have surrendered to Javert without any fuss – well, maybe he would have escaped later on.

Of course, his plan had gone completely awry when Fantine had taken a turn for the worse and had died during this visit, not before he had promised her that he would take care of her daughter as if she was his own. After that, there had been absolutely no other choice than to run. He couldn't have gone back on his words, even to cooperate with the law. Therefore, he could not afford to get caught.

He had had some luck, for once, when he had managed to leave, not only the hospital, but also the town without being caught or even anyone trying to stop him. He had apparently overestimated the rapidity with which words would be sent from Arras to Montreuil. Of course, he had been glad for it. Since he had no choice but to run for it, he really wouldn't have liked to have a confrontation with Javert. The man was stubborn to a fault and no amount of pleading would have changed his mind. He would have hated to be required to use force against him. He wasn't sure he could have convinced himself to use force against him.

However, he had been on his way to Montfermeil without having to answer that question and with no police patrol to dodge. Of course, that hadn't meant he could let down his guard. Javert would have no doubt discovered Fantine's death very soon after his leaving and he would have known immediately his first action would be to go and get Cosette. And while he may not have cared much about the woman he had almost arrested, his attention to details would permit him to remember exactly where she had said the child was living and, let's face it, he would have quite an easier time than Valjean to find the place in all probability.

No, Valjean really hadn't had any time to lose at the moment and he also had to stay attentive to every little details that could warn him he was being followed.

In the end, he had actually found Cosette before even looking for the inn itself. That little child, fail and yet so strong in her own way, struggling painfully with a bucket that, to Valjean, looked almost bigger than her, surely way heavier than any child her age had business trying to lift, in the dark forest in the middle of a winter night, in nothing but rags. He had seen red.

These people, these Thénardiers, had exploited Fantine, her misery, her hopelessness; they had been, he had no doubt, partly responsible for her death, maybe indirectly, and yet had not cared one bit about the child she had left in their care.

Yet the little one, who by all means should have learnt to fear people, had been so trusting of him, happy to finally have someone who seemed to care about her, someone who was polite and gentle and had listened to her. She had reminded him so much of a little boy, about the same age, that his heart had nearly broken at that reminder that this particular relationship was over for good.

However, now, there would be another child in his life, one who would never learn the truth, who would never be put in the same position than Javert this time around, having to choose between society at large and himself. No, Cosette would be kept in the dark about his past, he had sworn it to himself.

He had gone back to the inn with her – and he had been unable to resist buying her the doll in the shop window. The light in her eyes when she had told him her name was to be Catherine! The Thénardiers had been as abject as he had made them out to be in his mind. Only interested in money – and maybe the free labour she provided – but caring nothing about her, no matter their little show of undying devotion. He had given them money and had left with Cosette without a backwards glance, preferring to avoid staying too long, not only because of the Thénardier's shifty looks but also because of the risk to be caught.

He hadn't had the time to tell Cosette about the danger of not being hidden well-enough just yet as the child, exhausted by all her days of working without any respite, had simply fallen asleep on his lap as soon as they had settled into a coach.

So there he was now, looking at her in awe at the trust she was showing him, a perfect stranger. Him, who was the subject of a countrywide manhunt, she had wanted to call him Papa already. And he had agreed, had told her he would be both father and mother to her and meant it with all his heart.

Now, though, now he could finally breath and think about what was to come. He didn't know what he was going to do when he reached Paris, because that could be his only destination of choice. He knew he had to disappear, knew that once he had disappeared, Paris would be the first place they would look for him but also the only one that could be his salvation. How was he going to find a place to stay in, though, he hadn't had time to think about these kinds of details and now that he did, he realized he had no idea where to even begin looking.

Suddenly, there was no more time. He felt the coach slow down, in a place where Valjean was certain it should never have happened and when he looked through the window, peeking through the curtains, all he could see was the police barrage and the men in uniform controlling every vehicle, looking for someone in particular and Valjean knew it was for none other than him. His eyes were attracted by a figure he knew well and he saw Javert on his horse. His breath caught.

He wanted to go to him and explain himself, explain why he had left without a word, but he couldn't. the price would be too high to pay now that he had Cosette with him. He couldn't condemn her to what would be her life should he go to prison. So there was no other choice, he simply had to avoid the inspector at any cost and pray that the man would not see it as abandonment, as a letdown from one more person in his life.

"Cosette," he shook her gently, making her stir and her eyes opened, sleepily. "Cosette, come, we must run."

Valjean had no idea whether or not she understood exactly what was going on, understood how important it was, or if it was just some kind of game to her. However, no matter her understanding of the situation, she did listen to him and made no sound when he hid her doll inside his jacket. She simply obeyed and followed him with no words of protest, even when he jolted her in his hurry.

They slipped away from the coach, after he had paid the course, and Valjean hoped they would be able to go unnoticed. For a moment, it did seem so, as there were no screams to betray his position. However, after having walked some distance, he realized that Javert himself did appear to have caught sight of him and had begun chasing him.

From then on, he stopped pretending walking normally, as he had until now to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but began running in earnest, holding Cosette's hand, encouraging her to go as fast as she could. As Javert was on horseback, he was much quicker and began gaining on them. After a while, he simply lifted the child in his arms and ran quicker. He had no idea where he was going and, maybe had he been able to think about it he would have wondered why Javert was the only one to follow him when there had been a good dozen of policemen milling around.

His only thought, though, was how to escape and, after he ran into an impasse, he believed he was done. Javert was closing in rapidly behind him and there seemed to be no escape possible. As hope began to fade away, he saw a rope that had previously escaped his notice. With it, he knew he could lift Cosette up the wall, as he knew he, himself, would be able to climb it unaided. He had had more than enough practice in Toulon.

A minute later, he was lying on the upper part of the wall, elbows and knees inside as to not be seen from down on the road. Cosette was lying beside him, cuddled against him. Both of them stayed as quiet as possible, trying to regulate their breathing as to not betray their presence.

The recognizable sound of a horse's footsteps followed them and seemed to come to a halt just beside the wall. For a moment, Valjean wasn't sure Javert wouldn't be able to hear his heartbeat or his respiration, both of which seemed to resonate loudly in his ears, so loudly be could barely make out the horse leaving, at a much lazier pace than he had arrived. Once they were gone, Valjean decided not to take any chance anyway and let himself fall on the other side of the wall, not knowing where it led.

He fell straight into the arms of Monsieur Fauchelevent, who would have done anything to help the man who had saved his life in Montreuil-sur-Mer, even lying to a convent of nuns and pretend that Jean Valjean was his brother Ultime Fauchelevent, accompanied by his young daughter Cosette.

Javert had seen Valjean as he slipped out of the coach with the girl, a little blonde waif who barely looked her six years of age. He could have warned his colleague but he didn't want that. He wanted to talk to Valjean alone and he couldn't afford to let anyone follow.

Therefore, he merely said he had perceived something but thought it was nothing important. He had a duty to still follow up on it but he advised them to keep the lookout, as he was absolutely certain that Valjean would be there soon. He would be back as soon as he had been able to verify that what he had seen was simply a trick of the light or something like that.

He had galloped after Valjean, hoping to be able to close in on him. However, Valjean was quicker than he thought and he couldn't take the risk to call out after him, as he would be liable to alert everyone he had found their fugitive. It would have been so easy, though, to call him, to scream to him that he wasn't going to arrest him, that he simply wanted to talk to him.

Would Valjean even believe him if he dared to take the risk? Or would he simply believe it a trick that Javert decided to use to catch him? Would he realize that he had influenced Javert's perception of the world enough for him to go against a direct order?

Javert would never know.

When he had thought that he was on the verge of catching them, knowing the alley Valjean had fled into was a dead end, he felt hope rise in him. Now, he would be able to explain himself. Reality crashed down when he found the courtyard completely empty, with no trace of man or girl. It was simply impossible. There was something he had missed. They couldn't simply have disappeared?

He looked around, though, and had to admit the truth. Valjean had vanished without a trace, and now Javert had absolutely no way of finding him again.

Emotions crashed down on him as he realized that these few moments he had chased after him where probably the very last time he would see the man he had called his… friend, if not another name – even if not out loud, not since the gypsy had taken back her curse.

He was completely alone in the world again and there was no word in his vocabulary to describe what he felt at the thought, a thought that barely some months ago would have been a simply evidence, which would provoke no reaction. Now it was purely devastating.

If Valjean's ears hadn't been filled by the thundering beat of his heart, he would have heard a stifled sob that could have changed everything. As it was, it would be years before the two men crossed path again.


	16. Book IV: Marius Chapter I

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**BOOK 4: MARIUS**

**Chapter I**

Ten years later – Paris.

Years had passed since that fateful night Javert had lost all trace of Jean Valjean and Cosette upon their arrival in Paris. He had, of course, made sure to stalk around the zone in which they had vanished. He had, evidently, known that there was absolutely no chance they would come back there, but the Prefecture had expected him to go on looking for the fugitive he had let escape – and that had been, thankfully, a slight against his competence and not actually his integrity, from people who had been completely ignorant of how close it had been to actually happen that way. So he had kept on the watch and had ended up simply giving up when his superiors had ordered it.

He had finally been transferred to Paris several months after the facts and the change of pace had been more than welcomed. Staying in Montreuil had been close to torture. It was full of now painful memories and the news of Madeleine's real identity had made a buzz that had kept on going for a very long time. His close association with the man had alimented a myriad of rumours he had tried his best to ignore. The rest of the consequences had been much graver, and less easy to disregard, though and the prosperity the town had enjoyed under the watchful guidance of their beloved mayor had simply crumbled after very little time. It had been an absolute horror to witness, especially knowing he was at the origin of everything.

So yes, he had been very glad for the change. He had taken to his new post with an ease that had impressed the people in charge and his little error with Valjean had quickly been forgotten thanks to both his dedication to his task and his success rate. He had quickly been promoted back to the rank of Inspector and his subordinates admired him as much as they feared him.

After all, what kind of man was always alone? What kind of man never permitted himself to pursue any kind of relationship, be it platonic or romantic, outside work? Because that was the kind of man he was. He had made an exception in Montreuil-sur-Mer and he had paid the price. These kinds of things weren't for him. No, he wasn't meant to have friends or family. It was simply something he was not suited for. He would only mess it up again and Javert did pride himself in always learning from his past mistakes. That one wasn't one he was about to repeat again.

No, the only thing that Javert lived for nowadays was his work. He accumulated more hours than any other policeman in the force in the city. He had a reputation to never give up on the criminal he was looking for. He could persevere for months on ends, working on these cases in margin from his current missions, to continue chasing someone long after anyone else would have told themselves there weren't any more leads to follow. However, Javert simply kept looking until he found a new lead.

That was the reputation he had gained on the force. It was a good one to tell the truth. However, it made him intimidating and his superiors deplored the way it made him seem unapproachable to the youngest generation of recruits. Of course, the one and only time they had tried to force him to play the mentor, it had ended up with the newbies practically begging them to go back on their decision and for everything to go back as it was before. They had never tried that again after this incident, and they had noticed that the apprentices seemed to learn a lot already, only asking Javert questions when none of them were able to understand on their own, which was rare, otherwise learning by observing and imitating.

Javert did try his best not to be too brusque. Well, at least sometimes. Some of the people he saw really had no business being in the police force. They had no instinct for the job and seemed apparently unable to grasp the concept of the kind of work they had to accomplish there. For those, he held nothing but contempt and if a less than stellar attitude helped them understand they needed to quit, the sooner the better, then he was all for it.

There were some promising young men, though, and for those he tried to show a little bit more patience and help. He did remember how overwhelming it could be at the beginning of a career in law enforcement and he knew the Parisian police needed all the effective they could get. To form the best and make sure they would stay for a long time, he was all right with being a little less intransigent, to somewhat compromise slightly. Besides, if the people he showed this more human side of himself didn't try to take advantage of it, then he could be absolutely certain of their values.

His reputation on the street, however, was completely different, more reminiscent of what it had been during the early time in Montreuil-sur-Mer. The vermin, criminals and beggars who lived of the streets, quite simply hated him. He was not surprised by it and he couldn't have cared less. To him, it just meant he was going his job correctly and that his presence proved to be a hindrance to the local ruffians.

It was especially true when it came to the gang known as the Patron-Minette, a gang in which he had found the innkeeper who used to maintain the establishment in Montfermeil and had, apparently, decided to leave his little town. The man had taken his wife and his two daughters with him to continue his life of crime and, while Javert had already realized back when he saw them for the very first time that his wife was as involved as he was, it was only in Paris he had found out Thénardier had taught his daughters the trade. They were now as good as him when it came to conning the unsuspecting passer-by.

It sickened him to see the next generation of criminals in the making but, short of arresting them whenever he could catch them doing something unlawful and hope it would be enough of a deterrent in the long run, there wasn't much he could do. They were, thankfully, hardly hardened criminals.

However, it was Thénardier himself, along with the rest of the gang, who were more worrisome, considering that some of them were known killers. It wasn't just petty theft and con artistry anymore, but violent crimes, which put innocent lives in jeopardy. And it was therefore a gang Javert would prefer to be able to put behind bars indefinitely. It was easier said than done, though, and once they were caught and thrown in jail, they had the annoying tendency of being capable of escaping whenever they wished to. He, therefore, tended to double his usual effort when it came to them.

The rest of the criminals were less important. There was an annoyance that answered to the name of Gavroche and who seemed to take genuine pleasure in crossing path with Javert whenever possible. He was a little _gamin_, of about ten years of age, who had most probably done quite a few illegal things in his life – theft came to his mind – but there had never been anything he could prove. And it was unfortunately not against the law to be cocky and aggravating, so there was literally nothing he could do there.

Had Javert been a man prone to sentimentalism, he may have thought the _gamin_ reminded him a little of himself at the same age, if somewhat more exuberant in his behaviour and more likely to make friends with others.

His continuing ardour to mock Javert – though the inspector had to admit the jibs seemed to be made more in good humour than any real malice – was something he would never have been caught doing himself, even at that age. However, Gavroche seemed to think of him as his self-chosen nemesis and acted accordingly. And sometimes, when the child didn't appear in his path for too long a time, Javert surprised himself by worrying.

The rest of the population, the honest people, seemed incline to simply ignore him, unless they wished to benefice from his services. Then, they suddenly found themselves showing him respect and acting in awe of his talent – Javert could see right through their act and his icy demeanour tended to make the budding actors quite aware of the futility of their attempts. However, he did listen to their complaints as it gave him the mean to arrest criminals he wouldn't have noticed otherwise.

Outside these times, they didn't seem to like him anymore than the criminal elements. He had even once heard a parent tell his child to behave if he didn't want Inspector Javert to come and get him. Apparently, through his fighting for justice, he had managed to become the bogeyman somewhere along the way and, even if he pretended not to be affected – to even enjoy this reputation – the truth was that it did hurt him somewhat and it made him wonder if he had also become the bogeyman in the nightmare of a blonde little girl somewhere in Paris.

Had Valjean told Cosette about him? Had he used his name in the same way that this parent had, to make sure she behaved? Had he made him the monster in her closet? He liked to believe it wasn't the case, that he had simply chosen to hide his existence from the young girl – woman really – altogether. He wasn't sure why it mattered though. It wouldn't change anything about the situation and it was not as if he knew Cosette, or if he ever was going to know her so it shouldn't matter at all. It did, though. It mattered very much to him and his heart clenched tightly in his chest at the thought.

Today was a day like any other in his life since he had come to live in Paris.

He hadn't been out for long when he heard a girl, one of the Thénardier girls – he recognized her voice – the eldest, Eponine he seemed to recall her name was, scream from not very far away.

"Run for it, it's Javert!"

He reacted without losing a single second and strode in the direction of the voice. Normally, he was certain that she would have been more careful, would have remembered to be more discreet in her attempt to warn whoever was with her of the police presence, but Javert simply assumed she had a good reason to want him to intervene. The girl was not as far gone as her parents were and she still had a conscience. Maybe whatever scheme her father and his accomplices had planned was above what she could stand. Whatever her reason was, he was confident she had known exactly what she was doing when she had screamed.

He arrived a few seconds later on the place, followed by a few of his men who had been patrolling around and had been attracted to the sound of their boss' name. Not everyone had been able to run. Some of the Patron-Minette were still on the place: Thénardier himself with his wife, Brujon, Babet, Claquesou. There was, on the other hand, no sign of Montparnasse who had apparently had time to scatter. Damn.

Javert strode to them, glad to see them simply stop trying to run, barely sparing a glance at the intended victim, only uttering a few reassurances that their attackers would face justice, so caught up he was in his duty. He was so intent on finding enough to pin on the gang to send them in jail that he failed to notice how his 'victim' shied his face away from him.

When he asked for a witness to the crime, a young man, barely out of boyhood, reacted and came to him willingly – which was rare –, giving him a brief description of the events leading to the commotion. Javert committed both his name and his face to memory just to be certain he would be able to find him again later on if he needed him, and turned to ask the gentleman if he wanted to press charge.

Thénardier snorted at the surprise he showed unwillingly when he didn't see him there anymore.

"You'll have a job to find him!" he exclaimed, looking just like the cat who got the canary and Javert bristled at that, already not liking anything that could put such an expression on the face of the criminal who continued talking as if he didn't see anything. "He's not all he seems to be. And that girl he trails behind him, is the child he stole from me."

Javert completely ignored the little byplay between Thénardier and his wife, not really caring about whom exactly the child was stolen from. Because, no matter who it was, she could only be one child: Cosette. And that could only mean that the gentleman who had left in such a hurry was Jean Valjean.

After so many years without a trace, without even an inkling as to where he could have disappeared to, the man had been now so close to him. He could have talked to him, could have demanded an explanation as to why he had simply left Javert behind all these years go, without a word, why he had abandoned him without showing any remorse and had completely erased him from his life.

However, the fact was that, as soon as he had heard Javert's name spoken, Valjean had started running. It was very telling. Why had he done that? Back then, ten years go, he had had an arrest warrant in his hand, so Javert could have understood his fear. But now, the warrant was hardly current and the situation was just about back to what it was before Javert had written his letter to the Prefecture, a time where he had absolutely no intention of denouncing him. So why would he refuse to trust him now?

A wound that had never totally closed seemed to have reopened in a matter of seconds.

He barely heard himself give the order to 'clear this garbage of the streets' to his men as he was now thinking hard about Valjean and how he could try to find him again. He could try, yes, but should he really?

He wouldn't be able to arrest him now anymore then he would have been ten years ago. No matter the hurt Valjean had caused him, it didn't change anything about the fact that he was a good man and that he didn't deserve to live a lifetime of suffering in Toulon. The only reason he would have to look for him would be to have a conversation with him, to get an explanation, a reunion, but it was very obviously something that Valjean didn't want if his little disappearing act was any indication.

Should he really force the man to confront him when he simply didn't want to? Would it be really useful or would the content and tone of the encounter simply shatter Javert some more? He wasn't sure if he dared to try it. He wasn't sure if he could actually handle a rejection.

Lost in his thought, he hadn't even realized he had walked all the way back to the stationhouse. Trust Valjean to be able to completely mess up his state of mind without even being aware he was doing it. He had managed to take his mind completely off his duty and Javert was absolutely certain that a crime could have been committed right in front of him and he wouldn't have noticed anything. He had been that far gone during these last few minutes, which was something he really couldn't afford to let continue. He had to put Valjean out of his mind once and for all and find something else to concentrate on.

Maybe he should learn to be careful what he wished for in the future because he had barely been able to sit down at his desk when one of the junior officers of the station knocked on his door and entered the office without even waiting for an invitation. This absolute lack of decorum towards a man no one would, usually, have dared to disrespect showed very clearly his state of excitement. He would never have dared to act this way normally.

Javert was just about to give the man a scathing dressing-down for his mark of disrespect but he didn't have time before he was cut off. Decidedly, there was something unusual going on.

"Sir!" he exclaimed, eyes shining. "I just heard the news. It's all over the city. General Lamarque is dead!"

Lamarque. The harsh remark he had been just about to make died in his throat. Good Lord, that was a piece of news all of the police force and the National Guard alike, as well as the government in general, had been dreading for quite some time now.

With Lamarque's death, the revolution these people all over Paris, all over France, claimed for in the streets was sure to begin. Paris was a volcano just about to erupt and the death of their beloved General would be the spark that inflamed it. After all, what better rallying point for a group of people dispersed all around the city and neighbouring towns than the passing of an idol?

There were probably already beginning to organize themselves, to be ready to act soon. If Javert didn't miss his mark completely, the revolution would begin right by the time of Lamarque's funeral. It would be the easiest way to reassemble. It didn't take a lot of thinking about it to work this one out and Javert was more than certain his superiors were already planning something to that effect. He just had to wait for his orders.

"Sir?" the officer, who was still standing at attention in front of his desk, asked as he hadn't answered but he simply dismissed him with a wave of his hand, not really seeing him leave, already lost in thought about what was sure to come.

The Prefecture would probably sent spies to infiltrate the different group, as it was an extremely effective tactic. Knowing his past with working undercover, they would undoubtedly send him in somewhere. If, for any reason, they didn't do so, he would volunteer. His experience, after all, made him the best placed to do it and there would be no reason not to take advantage of him. He would simply need a target and a disguise and then, he would begin by sending information to his men and gathering wrong intelligence for the rebels.

With a bit of luck, he would be able to completely overthrow the defences by feeding the rebels lies and then, they would be quickly overwhelmed by the National Guard and contained and the revolution would end quietly, without a blood bath.

Javert had been right. It wasn't long before the Prefecture had convoked the combined forces of the Parisian police and the National Guard to brief them about the situation to come and what their respective roles would be. Javert also did not have to volunteer as they had already chosen him for a very specific mission.

He was to infiltrate a group of people – or schoolboys really – who seemed extremely likely to build a barricade on the say-so of their leader, a young man by the name of Enjolras. He was given all the information on this target and there was quite a lot as he was well-known for his rousing speeches in the streets of Paris, inciting the citizens to revolt and was apparently the leader the government feared the most because his charisma made him the most likely to reassemble supporters. That would actually work well if Javert had to infiltrate them, as they wouldn't find it strange to have a volunteer.

There had been reports of another boy during his last speech, one who showed the same amount of belief, one boy whose description matched to the perfection one Marius Pontmercy, his witness in the attack against Valjean. Fate had an extremely weird way of throwing people together, he mused.

He didn't have time for philosophical musing, though. He had a file to memorize, a disguise to prepare and a role to repeat in an extremely short amount of time. Everything had to be ready for Lamarque's funeral – the rumours having confirmed Javert's instinct that the barricades would be erected that day. And that was extremely soon.

One more day to revolution...


	17. Book IV: Marius Chapter II

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter II**

Things had most certainly not gone according to his plan, Javert mused serenely as he was tied up in the Café Musain, behind the very same barricade he had been sent to infiltrate, in a martingale, courtesy of the students he had wanted to protect by sabotaging their coup. Now he knew exactly how the prisoners bound that way felt and it was hardly a good sensation. The ropes were uncomfortably tight. He wasn't sure whether it was done on purpose, because he had in their eyes betrayed them and their cause, or if they were simply so inexperienced in such things they hadn't realized what they had done.

He was feeling charitable enough, despite the situation, to opt for the second proposition.

Everything had begun perfectly, though. He had assisted, out of uniform, to General Lamarque's procession, aware that there was a very good chance it would mark the beginning of the revolts. He hadn't been wrong and soon enough, both Enjolras and Marius had begun chanting. It didn't take very long for everyone around them to join in. He even saw one of the members of the Guard, someone who had been hired especially to manage the crowd, get caught up in the song.

It was a catchy enough tune, he supposed, with a good rhythm for what little he knew of those things. It was hardly appropriate for a funeral march, even less with their more than provoking attitude. Though knowing the General and his opinions, he wouldn't be surprise to learn it was something he would have liked. He would certainly have appreciated the thought behind it.

Considering the mayhem the situation quickly degenerated into, Javert had not been overly shocked when gunshots began ringing, though he had nearly shook his head in despair when he had realized the National Guard had fired the first one, before the rebels actually began using their own weapons. That had been a bad move, especially when it was an old lady, who had done nothing but stand at the wrong place at the wrong time, who was fatally wounded.

It had been enough for the volcano to erupt.

A scream from Enjolras had incited everyone to rally at the barricade and Javert knew he had to act at that point, that it would be way too late if he waited any longer. He had to go with them at the barricade and not join them later.

Providence had given him a respite for once when he had seen one of the boys, one who was part of Enjolras' court, on the verge of getting shot and had saved him in extremis. Of course, Javert would have done the same thing, even if it had not managed to give him any leverage. After all, he didn't like seeing young people get shot anymore than anyone else, especially since the boy was not armed as of yet.

That single act had gathered the good will of said boy and he only had to follow him around and help him move the furniture to create the barricade. He hadn't actually helped much, it hadn´t sat right with him, but he had done enough for the children around him to believe he was one of them. He had hidden his cudgel in the Café, taking advantage of a moment where no one had been watching him, just in case he needed it later on.

He hadn't known exactly how he would manage to give them false information without them being suspicious of his knowledge, or passing information to the police force. It was hardly the first time something like that happened when he had to go undercover in a way that didn't let him plan for every little details in advance. It had been, funnily enough, Enjolras who had given him the perfect cover.

He had asked for a volunteer, someone who could find out what was going on in the other camp. Maybe it had been too risky a bluff, maybe as someone they didn't know, they should have been suspicious, but they had apparently been so confident in their message that they had been certain he couldn't be anything else than an engaged citizen. They had even given him a gun.

He had, as he told them, gone behind the Guard's lines. Of course, he had hardly spied on them, as he knew exactly what their moves would be and he had told them what he had seen of the barricade. It hadn't been a lot, not just yet, but he had also taken the initiative to discuss with them of what he should tell the schoolboys.

He should have been more careful when he had come back. He should have approached without being seen, to see whom exactly had come to the barricade after he had left, just to be certain nothing would go wrong. He hadn't thought of that at the time and they had accosted him as soon as he had set foot on their side again.

He had told them everything he had worked out with the Guard, phrasing things in such a way it would be taken as a friendly warning of someone who was strictly on their side and ready to fight with them as best as he could. Enjolras, at least, had seemed to believe him, as he had tried to reassure him they could win. When that happened, he had thought he was safe, that he was in. How could he have guessed what form his downfall would take?

When he had heard the exclamation of 'liar' in such a young voice, he had felt absolute disbelief. Not because he was denounced, that had always been a risk and he had known it all along, but they couldn't seriously let someone so young in their little rebellion. It was completely insane. They were going to fall and they had failed to evict the child.

Gavroche.

He had barely listened to what exactly the child was saying, though he heard his name in full. Well, it had to be expected that someone who knew him so well would want to warn their friends against him. After all, Gavroche knew him well enough to be aware that his defection to the rank of the police and into the rebellion could only be faked.

What had surprised him, however, was that none of the older boys showed any hesitation in trusting him. They had all immediately listened to the child, which was hardly a good thing where Javert was concerned, and he had heard Enjolras read out his sentence, to be taken in the Café Musain and left at the mercy of the people. He had almost encouraged the boy to finish it with him just there and then. He had known that death would now be his only way out. They would never let him live through the end of the showdown and he would have preferred to die before he was forced to witness the blood was he was certain would come soon.

However, Enjolras and his little band of close followers had not succumbed to the clamour of the people – Gavroche having looked absolutely horrified at the thought that they would execute him, as if he had apparently not thought about that possibility when he had blown his disguise – assuring him they were not killers and simply left him tied up in the Café.

So now, there he was, having no choice but to see these schoolboys running around with no idea of what they were doing. They believed in their ideals, he had to give them that, enough to be ready to die for them, with one very obvious exception: the drunk, Grantaire who, while he didn't believe in freedom for the people, seemed to believe in Enjolras more than enough to justify his presence at the barricade. But all the beliefs in the world would not help them win against the total sum of the force of the Parisian police and the National Guard. They would all die behind this barricade, which was bound to fall, because Javert knew better than to think they would surrender.

He did not have to wait for very long before the first attack happened and, while his position left him absolutely unable to see any of what was going on, he could hear every single thing, especially considering that his only company at the moment was the corpse of an old man who had been foolish enough to go back for the flag and show himself beyond the barricade. There was no other sound in the Café, except for the faint snoring of Grantaire, somewhere in another room.

He heard the boy, Marius, call for the National Guard to back off if they didn't want him to blow up the barricade, and himself with it he had added after being told that one could not go without the other. Javert felt his respiration quicken. He would not seriously do that? Blowing up the barricade, considering the material it was made of, would mean everybody dead in an important radius. He didn't care much about his own life at this point – I was already forfeit – but the loss of everyone else on both sides would be absolutely devastating.

It seemed that, thankfully, the soldier in charge of negotiating, of trying to get them to surrender, had realized that they were never going to do so and ordered his men back. Javert felt himself breath again and he prepared to see the schoolboys come back. When it didn't happen immediately, even as there was no reason for them to stay all out, he strained his ears.

There weren't much noise outside. Everybody seemed to have fallen silent. That could not be good, not when they should have been keyed up with their success of having managed to drive the Guard back. Concentrating, the reason became more than obvious.

The only voices he could perceive were Marius' and the Thénardier girl's, Eponine, and from what little he could actually hear, it was a last conversation. So, the girl was dying. He should have been glad to see one less criminal in the streets but it was such a waste. Since when did that girl believe in the revolution? The answer was that she didn't. She was only there for the boy. He closed his eyes as he heard the girl's voice trail off and opened them again when he heard Marius come inside. She was nestled in his arms.

He was not gagged. He could have commented, could have told them that the very same thing would happen to each and everyone of them if they didn't stop this foolishness right there and then. However, seeing the body of the young girl, not even really an adult, he couldn't find it in himself to make the words leave his throat. There was a line between being strict and rude, and deliberately cruel. Commenting now would have crossed the line.

Things began to settle down for a moment and Javert saw Gavroche leave the barricade, a letter in hand. He almost sighed in relief when he realized the students had finally managed to save the boy's life by sending him away. He didn't even care what information that letter contained, didn't care if it was something that would make it harder for the Guard to do their duty, simply that it happened.

An innocent's life saved at last.

Of course, it was not actually the case. It didn't take too long before the boy was back, to Marius' surprise. He had apparently either told the boy not to come back, or had asked for the letter to be delivered later on. It didn't matter, though, because now Gavroche was once again in danger and there would be no other attempt to get away. Javert knew it would simply be impossible for him to leave the barricade again. It was already almost a miracle that he had made it out and back once.

No one talked to him, so he resigned himself to wait for the morning with nothing to distract himself, except for the thoughts of the deaths to come. When, at last, something happened to take his attention away from his brooding, he found himself wishing for boredom once again. Because that couldn't be happening. Not here. Not in this situation.

He was hallucinating. That was the one and only explanation. After all, there was no reason for that man to be there. He wasn't a revolutionist and he most certainly didn't spent the last ten years making himself scarce, only to reveal himself in such a way, with such a bang, for a cause he didn't even believe in. However, there was no mistaking the recognition in the man's eyes when Enjolras threatened him with half-words, telling him of their last volunteer and motioning for where Javert was held captive.

What did Valjean think when he saw Javert trussed up like a pig waiting for the slaughter? Did he feel relief at knowing that his hunter – or so he believed – would be silenced once and for all? Or did he feel sadness for his death to come? He would have liked to believe it was the second option but he quickly felt any hope he still held disappear when he heard Valjean ask Enjolras for permission to kill him himself. A permission that was summarily granted.

Javert barely managed to register that Valjean was given a gun – well, at least it would be a quick death. Maybe Valjean would be merciful and make sure he didn't suffer too much. He met Gavroche's regretful eyes – the boy apparently didn't realize how soon he would be joining him – and felt Valjean's strong grip on his arm as he was led out of the back of the Café Musain, into a deserted alley.

So that was where the path would end for him. Swallowing against the knot in his throat, he lifted his head and met Valjean's eyes, chin held high.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Shoot me, then," he said as the man didn't seem in any hurry to make a move and he saw Valjean lower the gun and put it in his waistband, not answering him but taking out a knife.

Nervous laughter bubbled in Javert's throat, but he was able to push it down. Of course, when did life ever give Javert any respite? It was more than fair that the last few moments of his life would be more painful, a slower death, than he would have liked. He hadn't believed Valjean to be that cruel. Then again, it had been so long, maybe he had simply built up his goodness in his memories? No, it wasn't fair of him to think like that. Maybe Valjean had just realized somewhere along the way that Javert didn't deserve any mercy.

"How right it is for you to use a knife," Javert mused out loud. "It suits you better."

So lost he was in his sombre thoughts that he didn't notice the flash of pain reverberating in Valjean's eyes, before the man schooled his features the best he could in the situation and took it upon himself to reassure Javert.

"You speak too much. Your life is safe in my hands," Valjean told him and Javert could not decipher the meaning of the words because they made absolutely no sense.

Then Valjean approached him with his knife out and Javert braced himself for the pain that was to come. However, there was no pain and, suddenly, his bonds fell to the ground.

Hope welled up in him and he looked up.

Valjean had received the letter from the child Gavroche with absolute confusion. Who was it that could possibly be writing to Cosette? It made absolutely no sense. With the life they were living, the young woman hadn't had any occasion to make friends. Apparently, though, she had without his knowledge. Even more than a friend, actually, he realized as he saw the words of a boy who, without a doubt, loved his daughter with all his heart. A boy she loved back.

He was losing her, he realized, and finding a boy to marry would mean that she wouldn't need her old father anymore. It was a day he had been dreading for a while now and letting the boy die at the barricade, the way it was sure to happen if events unfolded the way they should, without intervention from an outside force, would be a way to resolve the problem, without even having to get involved. She would grieve for what could have been but she would still be his.

He couldn't break her heart like this.

No, it was better for his own heart to break instead and so, with no thought about what could happen to him, he simply put on his uniform from the National Guard – it seemed the best way to get around the patrols unchecked and it wasn't as if he was really disguised, it was his own uniform – and went straight to the barricade in question.

He had expected to be met with distrust at the barricade, considering what he was wearing, but he had never thought it would be because someone had already tried to infiltrate this group as a volunteer before him. And when Enjolras told him the spy's name, the world shifted under Valjean's feet and his eyes immediately sought out the inspector he knew so well.

He found him, bound and bloody – apparently, the rebels hadn't been tender when they had subdued him. He felt anger bubbling in him, but it was hardly the time to let it out. He had to be accepted by the boys if he wanted a chance to save Marius. However, he couldn't let Javert stay there, as it was certain the man would die if he did nothing. It was a thought he simply couldn't stand.

Thankfully, Valjean was able to prove his 'loyalty' soon enough as he dispatched of a sniper who nearly managed to kill one of the rebels. Then the little boy who had given him the letter – and how he had hoped that he child would not have gone back to the barricade after his errand – spoke up in his defence and he was accepted with open arms. Enjolras admitted to owing him a favour.

That was his chance.

He asked for the opportunity to kill Javert himself, an opportunity that was too quickly granted. Of course, it was good for him in this instance, but he could only think that if someone who had wanted to do Javert harm had asked, it would have been so easy for them to succeed in killing him. He didn't let this train of thoughts continue, as he had to act before it was too late.

He was not gentle when he dragged Javert to his feet. He couldn't afford to be, not with all the schoolboys' eyes upon him. No, they had to firmly believe he wanted nothing more than this man dead, no matter how hard it was for Valjean to pretend that when he still cared so much for him, years after they had parted ways. He led him harshly to the back alley and, once there, almost threw him against the wall. He hoped no one had decided to follow him to ensure he did what he had said he would.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Shoot me, then."

These words, falling from Javert's lips, brought a frown to his face. Javert had to be acting. He couldn't be serious? He did not really think that Valjean could kill him in cold blood? He knew him, knew him better than anyone. He should know for sure that Valjean didn't have it in him to become a murderer and even less kill him, Javert.

Without a word, though, he slid the gun the rebels had given him into his waistband and took his knife out, intending to sever the rope that still held Javert's wrist tied together and to his neck. He heard a strange laugh coming out of Javert's mouth.

"How right it is for you to use a knife. It suits you better."

The words cut like the knife he was holding through Valjean's heart. Apparently, Javert did believe he had it in him to kill him. The years they had spent apart had apparently erased every good memory of the times they had shared in Montreuil-sur-Mer. It had hardened Javert against him and he supposed he couldn't blame the inspector, not after how much he must have hurt him by leaving. Valjean had thought the man would simply forget him, or become indifferent to him, but not grow to hate him once more. It hurt more than he would have thought to be considered a bloodthirsty beast once again.

"You speak too much. Your life in safe in my hand," Valjean said quickly, to stop the flow of words he couldn't stand to hear anymore.

He didn't say anything anymore. He simply cut through Javert's bond, aware that the man had tensed at his approach, probably waiting for a blow that would never come. Valjean acted as if he didn't notice and just concentrated on his task, but now that he knew Javert's opinion of him, he was certain there was no way the man would let him go. Maybe he could still convince him to give him one more day and wait for the next morning before arresting him, if he were to survive the night.

The rope fell to the ground.


	18. Book IV: Marius Chapter III

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter III**

When Javert felt the rope slid from his wrists and fall to the ground, he barely felt the physical relief, the disappearance of the continuing pressure on the chafing. The relief about knowing his life would continue was greater. He may not have been afraid to die, he may not have cared much one way or another, but it was still good to know he would go on living. Besides, Valjean had freed him instead of killing him, when he had him at his mercy. That had to mean something.

It had to mean that Valjean had actually, finally, realized he was not a danger to him.

It made hope blossom in his chest. Maybe he could still be a part of Valjean's life once again, now that the man knew he wasn't going to send him back to jail. Maybe he would accept him again. For that alone, it was worth living, it had been worth going through this nightmare, had even been worth believing he would die at the man's hand. Now he was ready to begin a new chapter of his life.

He quickly realized his mistake.

"I still have business to conduct here," Valjean said, matter-of-factly, as if he wasn't talking about a barricade on the verge of falling. "If I live through the night, you will find me at 7, Rue de l'Homme Armé. I will not resist arrest. I will willingly come with you."

So that was it, Javert mused. Valjean had not realized that Javert didn't want to arrest him, he simply didn't care about it anymore. He felt as if he had finished all he had to do in this life – or almost as the case was. Was it really his habit to make people love him and then abandon them? First Javert and now his daughter. Or did he simply not realize what kind of influence he had on people around him and thought they wouldn't give a damn about him not being there anymore?

It irked him and that was what caused the next words to leave his mouth to be completely wrong.

"Seven, you say," he repeated, as if he was memorizing the address to actually conduct the arrest once the night was over. "I'll be there, Valjean. You will still have to answer to Javert."

His words could be taken as if he was actually going to finally catch Valjean and he did it on purpose. What he meant, on the other hand, was completely different. Now that he finally had their address – and that Valjean had very much invited him – then he could go there and talk to him, tell him the truth, that no matter what he had thought all these years, he had absolutely no intention to arrest him.

On that thought, he left the barricade, at Valjean's urging, hoping with all his heart that he would survive the night, but not even trying to get him to come with him. Whatever it was that Valjean felt he had to do there, he would do it and no amount of begging on Javert's part would change anything. He startled when he heard the gunshot and saw chips fall off the wall just a few steps away from him, but he didn't turn back to see Valjean enter the Café back, probably telling the rebels that the deed was done and that they were free of their spy. Javert knew they probably would not survive to discover the lie.

Javert had gone back to the station afterwards, knowing that they would probably want any news he could give them. He told his superiors what had happened, omitting only the identity of the man who had saved him. He simply told them that it was one of the rebels and, after all, by being at the barricade, Valjean would have been identified as a rebel in any case, so it wasn't that much of a lie.

He felt bone tired, but there was so much to be done that he didn't have a chance to rest until it was already morning and then the news arrived that the last barricade, the barricade at the Café Musain ironically, had finally fallen and Javert had been asked to go there to verify that all the rebels were dead and no one had managed to escape.

So Javert went, dreading to find one specific body in the lot, one that was not the corpse of a rebel but of an ex-convict turned saint.

As he approached the place, his feet began to bathe in the blood that was still present all over the streets. The bloodbath he had wanted so badly to avoid had indeed happened in the end and he was there to witness the aftermath.

He looked all around, the bodies of the members of the National Guard lying where they fell, amassed one over the other, just like the battle had left them. All these lives wasted, all these men snatched up in their prime, leaving wives, children and parents behind. They had chosen a life of danger when they had answered the call, but it was still painful to watch. Yet, he knew the worst was still to come.

The closer he got to the barricade, the less Guard's bodies were present, as most of them had fallen a way away. Yet, the number of cadavers once again increased. Those were from the rebels, all so much younger, too young to have ended up here, like this.

The people may not have risen to the occasion as Enjolras would have wanted, but they had wept for those who had chosen to give their life for a better world. He could still see the fallen leader from where he stood, hanging from the upper window of the Café, his beloved flag still in hand. He was a martyr exposed for all to see.

The bodies were all lined up, all cleaned up as much as they could have been considering the circumstances, innocent children in their eternal sleep. It was hard to watch, hard to study their faces and try to remember the last few moments of their life that he had witnessed to make sure they were all there. To see them, in his mind, drinking and singing together and then watch their bodies.

Halfway through the line up, he stopped dead in his track, his eyes falling on Gavroche, the little _gamin_ who had dodged his footsteps for so long, who had amused himself by mocking him and becoming a permanent fixture in his life. Gavroche, whom he would never see running around him again, who had been young, way too young to know what he had been fighting for at the barricade, had not survived the night.

He was lying on the ground, his eyes closed. Javert would have thought he was simply sleeping if it was not for the dried blood al over his shirt and his hair. He kneeled beside his body. There was no one to see him do it and, even if there was, why would it matter anyway? He brushed the blonde hair back, wishing he could have protected him, at least him, wishing that a little boy could have been spared such an end.

On impulse, he took off the medal adorning his uniform, a medal given to him for his courage in the face of danger. Gavroche had shown more courage than most grown men he knew would have shown but no one would ever granted him such recognition. No one but Javert. He pinned the medal on the jacket of the child and, with one last look, went back to his task, trying to erase the picture from his memory, in vain. He knew it would be engraved into his mind for the rest of his life.

He finished examining the line of bodies and there were two conclusions that came to him. The first was that Valjean, against all odds, had managed to make it out alive. The second was that one of the rebels was missing from the count and he had a feeling that these two instances were entwined. Valjean must have taken the boy away. That must have been the reason he had come to the barricade in the first place and, even though Javert had no idea why he would have done that, he actually lied to the rest of the force and told them all the people he had counted at the barricade were gone.

He would have preferred to go to Valjean immediately, to make sure the man was alright, but he could hardly justify shirking his duty now of all times and, knowing that the failed revolution would engender a recrudescence of crime, particularly the thieves who would become grave robbers, all the effectives were needed on the streets.

Which was how fate was able to engineer one more chance of an encounter between two men whose destinies seemed to be entwined forever.

He had been chasing Thénardier, of all people, when it happened. The man had always been a rat in Javert's eyes and he had not changed one bit because of the death of his daughter. Did he even know she had fallen at the barricade? Did he even care? She had been fighting among the men he was now robbing of their goods but Javert doubted it would make any difference for him. Nothing but money mattered in his mind.

Javert had been following him for a long time and had almost lost his trace, only knowing he had apparently taken refuge in the sewers. Well, at least he was now in the right place, Javert mused. Men like him deserved nothing more than that. Of course, it most certainly did not make Javert's duty easier, as he had no intention to follow him inside. After all, he had no chance to find him in the labyrinth that was the sewers of Paris.

However, the man had to get out at one point or another and Javert would be there when it happened. He was still stalking the place when he finally saw a figure emerge.

For an instant, Javert thought that Thénardier had decided to come out, thinking that the inspector had given up. Of course, he should have guessed the man was more stubborn than that and that he actually knew Javert better, having been chased by him more than once. There was no chance he would take such risks, not after the length he had gone to escape him.

He realized his mistake when he put himself in the path of the figure – which he could not identify, so covered in filth he was – because Thénardier would never be found carrying another man, a dying man from what he would see. No, Thénardier would simply let anyone who was injured behind, without caring.

"It's you Javert," the man said and Javert frowned because the voice was way too strained for him to identify; he supposed, it wasn't an easy feat to carry someone through the sewers. "The faithful servant as his post once more."

"Who is it?" he cut to the chase, as this person seemed to know him well.

"It is I, Jean Valjean," was the surprising answer.

It made sense and the man he was carrying had to be Marius Pontmercy.

"This man has done no wrong," Valjean continued, not noticing any trouble within Javert and the inspector forced himself to concentrate on the words. "He needs a doctor's care."

Of course, Valjean still thought he was going to be arrested. Should he tell him he was safe from him or should he continue with the charade? He was not sure anymore. He felt so tired he couldn't think straight and it became difficult to think of a reason for not letting Valjean believe exactly what he wanted to. After all, if he wanted to believe the worst of him, why should he stop him? Did it really matter anymore? Eight years of believing it, would a single explanation from Javert erase all that time or would he always doubt him from now on?

What kind of life could he possibly hope for them to have together under these conditions?

"I warned you, I would not give in," he answered without any conscious decision, the words leaving his mouth of their own volition. "I won't be swayed."

"Another hour yet," Valjean insisted. "And then I'm yours. All our debts are paid."

Debt? Was that all there was left between them, then? He would have laughed bitterly if he still had any strength left to do so. But all he was capable of was to play the role Valjean had casted him in. What else was left to do?

"The man of mercy comes again, and talks of justice."

"Time is running short!" Valjean exclaimed, apparently not appreciating his musings.

Yet Valjean was right, time was running short now. He could feel it in his heart.

"Look down, Javert. He's standing in his grave."

Of course Valjean was talking about the boy. He knew that. For his part, Javert could not believe it was possible for him to survive but, then again, Valjean was known to accomplish miracles so, why not one more? After all, bringing someone back to life would bring him even closer to sainthood still. Well, he supposed he could help him in his task. If nothing else, it would be a worthwhile endeavour for his final hours.

"Go, Valjean, before I change my mind. I'll be waiting for you at 7, Rue de l'Homme Armé. One hour."

Valjean looked so grateful – well, his eyes showed gratefulness at least, as it was the only part of his body Javert could actually see – when he let him go. Javert's throat tightened painfully and he watched him until he disappeared from sight, probably going to wherever the family of the boy was residing.

He had absolutely no intention to wait for Valjean at number 7, rue de l'Homme Armé. He couldn't even remember why he had wanted to go there in the first place. His mind couldn't make out his reasoning anymore. He was so tired, his head simply swam with confused thoughts.

All he could see was that there was no place for him in the life Valjean had created for himself since coming to Paris. He had a house, a daughter and, Javert realized it now, probably a future son-in-law who he was trying to save, who he would probably succeed to save. It was an idyllic life, something he had probably dreamt off since back in Toulon.

The only place Valjean could see Javert in, in this paradise of his, was as the man who was coming to take him away from it. And he was right, he supposed. What role could Javert play in this family of his? He was a stranger to Cosette, a traitor to Marius and a hunter to Valjean who, by this point, probably didn't remember that there was a time when he had almost called him Papa.

No, going to Rue de l'Homme Armé would probably do nothing but disturb the equilibrium that Valjean had worked so hard to create and to protect – protect from him, may he add. He couldn't do that. He had already stolen his happiness from Valjean once when he had denounced him in Montreuil-sur-Mer. He didn't have the heart to do it again.

His feet brought him away from the place of their encounter. In his inner turmoil, he had completely forgotten his chase for Thénardier. He didn't even recall why he had come there in the first place. Once again, Valjean had completely taken over his mind, as he was known to do. Would Thénardier even realize his pursuer had stopped his hunt?

He walked, in a daze, thinking about the several encounters with Valjean, which had happened in such a short time and, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he had been a fool to even think about renewing their acquaintance. He should have listened to his instinct in the very beginning and kill all hope to find Valjean again, to see him after such a long time. However, he hadn't believed fate would be so cruel as to throw them together once again, simply to tear them apart one more time.

He should have remembered that fate had never liked him.

There was no moral dilemma. He wasn't going to arrest Valjean, but he knew he couldn't stand to live so close by without being able to call on him. He knew he couldn't spare his life and simply go on ignoring his very existence but, for Valjean, either he would be caught or he would be free of him.

Well, he supposed he could free Valjean of him, if it was the price to pay for the man to be happy again. He couldn't live with all those memories of Valjean anymore and Valjean couldn't live with him present in his life. The solution to the problem was easy enough to find.

Valjean would wonder tonight where he was, he supposed. He would wait with baited breath for the moment Javert would come and rip him away from his beloved daughter. There was nothing Javert could do to avoid that, not after his last words to him but he supposed he would learn the truth soon enough.

What would his reaction be? Would he be relieved to be finally free of his imagined hunter? Javert hoped it would be the case, as it was the goal he was aiming for in the end. He still hoped there would be a spark of sadness, not because he wanted Valjean sad – he didn't, not at all – but he would like to know that at least one person in this world would grieve for him.

And there was only Valjean for that.

On his last thought, he stopped looking at the ground and his eyes fell on the place his feet had brought him to, unknowingly. Yet, he supposed it was fitting. The Pont-au-Change.


	19. Book V: Cosette Chapter I

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**BOOK 5: COSETTE**

**Chapter I**

Cosette was worried. It was the least one could say. She had woken up that morning with absolutely no idea where her father was. However, it would hardly be the first time he had left for a little while. He may have been giving alms, or he had heard someone in need of assistance and had gone to help. He usually made sure she knew where he was in cases like these, but it hadn't been overly worrisome to find him gone before breakfast.

His prolonged absence, though, that was something else completely. The more the day advanced, the more worried she became. When the night finally fell and he still hadn't come home, with no explanation whatsoever, no one coming to give her a message, she hadn't been able to stand it anymore.

Her Papa would probably be mad if he ever learnt of what she did. However, she preferred to incur his wrath than stay in this state of uncertainty any longer. At least, she would know where he was.

She left the house on her own, for the very first time in an extremely long time. She couldn't remember the last time she had done so, with the exception of her garden of course, where she had been able to meet her dear Marius, someone else she had no news of. Both these disappearances in such a short time had made her extremely anxious.

She had no idea where to begin looking, no idea to where her father may have chosen to go, so she just began walking around, hoping to find someone who she could ask if they had seen the man. She knew it would be a long shot, as her father had always made sure not to get noticed at all, she still didn't really know why, except that it was important that they stayed hidden as much as possible and avoided as much contact with the outside world as possible.

That had been one of the reason she had never told the man about Marius. That and she had liked having a secret of her own, after all the things her father hid from her. It was her own way of getting back at him in a way. She would tell him everything, though, if she could only find him and have him back beside her. It seemed so petty, now.

She had been walking for quite a while now, her feet were beginning to hurt in her shoes and the darkness was beginning to frighten her. There was no one in the streets, but they spoke to her of desolation and she couldn't help the feeling something very important, very grave, had happened. In her heart, she could feel that she had reasons to be anxious about the men she loved. However, now, all she wanted was to find a kind soul who would be able to direct her back to her own home, as her walking around like that had completely lost her in the streets of a city she knew little of, despite having lived there for quite a while.

Finally, in the distance, she saw the figure of a man.

Hope began to well up in her chest. She didn't know who he was, she could barely see him from there, but she was certain he could help her. After all, anyone else would know their way in the dark better than her. There must have been no one in this world quite as sheltered as her, she mused almost bitterly. She loved her Papa dearly, but sometimes she wished he would stop seeing her as the lost little child in the wood and notice that she had grown up to become a strong woman, one who could handle the world as it was.

As she approached the figure, engaging herself on the same bridge, she realized he wasn't standing on the ground, as she had thought in the first place, but on the parapet, way too close to the edge for her liking. He was going to fall, she realized frightfully, and so she did the only thing she could think of.

She screamed.

As she did so, she could see the man had heard her and she ran, as best as she could, the rest of the way to him as he turned in her direction, staying on the parapet, but looking down at her as she finally closed in on him, apparently unwilling to jump – because he was going to jump and not fall she had grasped – when she was there to witness the incident.

"Monsieur!" she exclaimed as she stopped less than a meter away from where he was standing, having to look up to talk to his face and not his legs. "Please come down from the parapet."

She doubted he would do so simply because of her prompting, not without arguing, but she was pretty stubborn and she would insist until he did as she said. There was no other possibility. She thought dimly that she should still be looking for her father, that anything could happen to him while she was discussing with a perfect stranger but, in her heart, she knew it as the right thing to do, that she could not let him throw his life away in this fashion, not if there was any way she could prevent him from doing so.

However, as she observed him closely, she could see the sadness, the despair, that radiated from him. He looked so lost, like a little boy who had lost his family and couldn't find them again, she realized once she could remember where she had seen that kind of look before. It was… strange to see such an expression on someone as old as he was. What had happened to him to put such sadness on his face?

"Mademoiselle," he said in a grave voice, in which Cosette could hear all the misery of the world. "Please, by on your way."

Cosette shook her head, an expression of pure stubbornness making its way on her features. She crossed her arms over her chest as she continued to watch him intently, hoping it would be enough of a deterrent until the moment she found the right words.

"Not until you come down. Besides," she added, with a shrug. "I don't know my way. I went looking for my father. He has disappeared you see, and I'm very worried about him. But now I can't seem to find my way back home. That is why I was coming to talk to you, because I was hoping you could help me. Can you help me, Inspecteur?"

She had recognized, at last, the uniform he was wearing. He was a member of the Parisian police and maybe it had been his job that had driven him to the river. It was plausible, but she could not even begin to guess. All she could hope was that his sense of duty would force him to help her and, at least, delay his decision for a while. Maybe it would be enough.

Javert closed his eyes. It had seemed so simple, so easy, to take his decision. It still was very obvious to him that it was his only choice. However, he couldn't jump if anyone was watching. He didn't want anyone to witness his fall and he also didn't want to traumatize a young woman by forcing her to watch a suicide.

He couldn't get down, though; he didn't think he had the strength to take that step, not even to help her get home. What kind of man was he that he couldn't help a young woman lost in the streets of Paris in such a dangerous time?

"You should never have come out today, Mademoiselle. The streets are dangerous after the events of last night. Your father will be very worried should he come home to find you gone."

"I know. This is why I want to get home before him but I don't know the way. Please, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," Cosette pleaded, not knowing if she was pleading for him to tell her the way home or simply give up on his intention to jump.

"Where do you live?" Javert asked.

Maybe if he could tell her how to get there, she would leave him in peace and he would be able to take that final step, the one that would finally free him from this existence and wash him of his sins.

"At number 7, Rue de l'Homme Armé," Cosette answered readily and she saw the myriad of emotions run over his face.

She realized right then that he knew the address she had just given him. Since she had never seen the man before in her life, that could only mean he knew her Papa. Did he know where he was? Did he know why he had simply disappeared from the house? She was just about to ask him all these questions, when he spoke up.

"You must be Cosette, then," Javert said and, of course, it would be her of all people who would find him.

And why not? If not the father, then why not the daughter? It seemed he was forever fated to cross path with these people, no matter how much he didn't want to anymore, no matter that it was too late, way too late for it to matter anymore. He still could reassure her, though, he supposed.

"Your father is alright, Mademoiselle," he continued, not giving her the time to answer a question that had been more rhetorical than anything else. "I saw him not one hour ago, carrying a wounded young woman away from the barricade. He should be on his way home by now."

The news was a shock to Cosette. Not that he was on the way home, no, that was something she was very glad to hear, but that he had gone to the barricade and was carrying someone who had been injured. She wasn't aware that her father knew any of the people who believed in the revolution. At least, she had her answer to what had happened to make the streets so gloomy.

"A young man?" she asked him. "Do you know who?"

"A boy named Marius Pontmercy," Javert answered, beginning to feel tired, his legs shaking from the strain of standing still on the ledge; if they didn't stop their conversation soon, he would fall whether he wanted it or not.

There was a gasp from the young demoiselle and seeing her expression, he had been right in thinking that the boy Valjean was saving may have been a suitor for Cosette.

"Papa is saving my Marius? Oh! I hope he's not too injured. Monsieur l'Inspecteur, was Marius very much injured? Is his life in danger?"

He could not bring himself to break her heart by telling her he was certain the man was dying. He couldn't do that and he would not be there to witness the consequences of hiding the truth from her anyway.

"I do not know, but your father seemed confident he had a good chance to save him. Now, let me give you the directions to your house."

That wasn't what Cosette wanted at all, though she listened attentively as she would still have to go back home, even if she failed in saving the man. She was closer than she may have thought, but she didn't want to make her way alone. She was frightened and she was beginning to shiver as a light rain had begun to fall. She wanted to go home and she just wanted the man to cooperate.

"Monsieur, please, you very obviously know my father and he knows so few people. Please, bring me home to him. I'm afraid of going back on my own. Please, Inspecteur…"

She trailed off, realizing she didn't even know his name, as much as she was begging him to bring her home to her father. He was someone her father knew, someone who could maybe one day tell her things he still refused to tell her and she hadn't even asked.

"I don't even know your name," she admitted, an air of defeat, as if her failure to inquire sooner had somehow been a slight against him.

Well, Javert thought, he had wondered what Valjean had told the girl about him. Now was the moment of truth. Her reaction would tell him everything.

"I am Inspector Javert, Mademoiselle," he told her and waited for a reaction, which didn't fail to come.

Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat and she looked absolutely dumbstruck. Now would come either the fear or the recrimination. At least, she would stop trying to make him come down. It was a bittersweet thought.

For once in his life, he had failed to predict the truth.

"You're Javert?" she repeated, almost disbelieving and then her face hardened and he braced himself. "You absolutely have to come down, right now. You cannot jump. I won't let you!"

Where she had been pleading before, she was now demanding and he couldn't understand the reaction. Why would she care now that she knew who he was, someone she had apparently heard about before, since she had very obviously reacted to his name, even though her reaction was almost the complete opposite of what he had awaited.

"I… what?" he asked, dumbly, because she was surprising him and he couldn't process the answer, not with his mind in shamble as it was and his exhaustion threatening to completely overwhelm him.

"Papa has told me all about you," Cosette said, not realizing he wouldn't understand what she meant by that, not realizing that in his mind it wouldn't be a good thing. "He told me who you are, but I never thought I would see you. But now that I've found you, I cannot let you do that. You can't leave. You have to come home."

To come home? Javert couldn't make heads or tails of what she was saying. Her statements were contradictory to the possible. How could she know all about him and yet ask him to come home? It should be either one or the other.

"Home?" he asked, voice strangled.

"Of course," Cosette said, with a smile she hoped was reassuring, even though the anxiety she was feeling was skyrocketing because of her urgency to get him down the parapet was reaching a paroxysm now that she knew who he was; god, it would kill her Papa. "You have to come home with me, to Papa. After all, you're family."

"Family?"

Javert was stuck repeating every word she was saying because the more she talked, the less sense she made. He couldn't understand anything anymore. He was too tired; he simply wanted to fall.

"That's what Papa says. He says you're my brother."

For Cosette, it had always been an evidence, even if she had never met him. Her Papa had talked about Javert, had told her that circumstances outside of their control had forced them apart and that they would probably never be reunited again but that it hadn't changed anything about what he felt towards him. He had cared for Javert, under strange circumstances, as he would have cared for his own son and, even though everything had changed a long time ago, his feeling had remained the same and he had not even tried to fight it. And when he talked about the man, he called him her brother because, somehow, in his own mind, that was what he was. And through his words, the same had become true for Cosette.

Javert stared at her, dumbstruck. It was impossible. She couldn't have said what she had just said. It made absolutely no sense but she looked so earnest, as if she believed the words that left her mouth and her urgency to see him come down had become more and more visible on her face as time went by.

Cosette, seeing him beginning to waver, felt a ray of hope in the darkness. Maybe she was getting to him. God, she hoped she was getting to him. She extended her hand towards him, practically begging him to take it with her eyes.

"Please, Javert, come down from there," she repeated. "Come home with me. Papa will be delighted."

He was shaking his head before she had time to finish her sentence and she frowned, not understanding why he refused to believe her.

"No!" he said vehemently, even though his hand began reaching towards her, almost against his own will. "Your father doesn't want me home. He… he left."

He had finished choking on a sob, his exhaustion making it impossible to deny his hurt and hide his emotions away as he was so prone to do and tears began to sting Cosette's eyes as she could hear all the hurt he felt at the thought. She still had no idea what had happened between them, why her father would have left him, but whatever it was, she knew for sure he wished it had never happened. She wasn't lying when she said that her father would be delighted.

"I don't know what happened," she admitted, not wanting to lie to him, knowing it would be a bad start if she did. "But I know Papa wants you home. He talks about you, all the time. You're the only thing he talks about that concerns his past. I know nothing else, not even who my mother is. But you, he can't stop and I don't want him to stop. I like the thought of having a brother and I want to get to know you, not only through Papa's word. I can't tell you why he left, he has never told me anything about that, but he loves you. That much I know for sure. That much he has told me."

Javert's breathing had quickened, his emotions threatening to take over and he felt his eyes swimming with unshed tears because what she was saying, it wasn't possible but she didn't seem to be lying and he knew, just looking at her, that it was the truth as she understood it. She didn't have it in herself to lie. That meant…. That meant that maybe he could have the family he wanted. Was it possible? He couldn't bear it if it was a lie.

His hand was shaking, even as it almost touched her fingers, still extended towards him but he couldn't close the little distance that still remained and she was too far to be able to do anything else. She had stretched her arms as much as she could. It had to be him who took that step.

"Please," she begged once again, tears streaming down her face. "Come down."

Finally, his hand closed around hers and she simply pulled, helping him get down. However, his legs simply couldn't hold him anymore. He fell to the ground and sat his back against the parapet, looking at her, still lost, eyes still brimming with tears but, at least, the danger was over. She had succeeded. She had saved him and, for now, it was all that mattered.

They would have to go back home soon, she knew. They would have to make their way there and explain themselves to her Papa, who would not be happy to know the events that had transpired, but it could wait. It could wait a little longer, she realized as she took in his shaking body.

Well, it wasn't as if this was her only dress, she decided as she simply sat down beside him, not caring she was dirtying her clothes, probably beyond repair. She leant against the parapet, her shoulder touching his and she put her arms around his shoulder, knowing she was taking maybe too many liberties with a man she hadn't actually met before today. However, he was her brother and she may not have seen him before, she had, in a way, known him for years.

Javert, for the first time in eight years, let himself take comfort in another being and turned sideway to hide his face in her shoulder, taking refuge in the strength she possessed despite her frail exterior and, if there was wetness under his cheek, well they could both pretend it was from the rain, she thought as she let one of her hands caress his hair.

After all, there was no need for anyone else to know the truth.


	20. Book V: Cosette Chapter II

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter II**

Javert didn't know long they stayed like that, sitting on the wet pavement, leaning against the parapet he had stood on moments before, not talking to one another anymore, but simply existing together, peacefully now that Javert had calmed down. He was still tired, exhausted really, he still couldn't think straight and he had half a mind to get back at his previous post if he had any strength left.

However, he could not do that to Cosette. The young woman at his side had shown exactly how much she cared about whether he lived or died and it was one thing to jump when you knew there was no one left to care, it was quite another to force someone so innocent and so pure to grieve. He had already ruined Valjean's life, he couldn't do the same to his daughter. So he would live and, maybe she had been right and he would have a place with them.

They should probably walk back to Rue de l'Homme Armé now. Valjean must have noticed Cosette's absence and he would be worrying himself sick, but Javert had no courage left to get back on his feet and it seemed that Cosette was content to wait for him to move. She kept a strong grip on his hand, which she had taken in hers after he had released her completely.

"Your father will be worried," Javert said at last, the silence having gotten to him.

Cosette knew that, of course. She knew she should have been on her way back since the moment she knew he was almost there. However, she thought her dearest Papa would forgive her once he knew the reason she had stayed out for so long.

"I know, I know," she answered but she made no move to get up, only squeezed his hand a little tighter.

However, the decision was soon out of their hands, as the sound of distant and hurried footsteps broke the silence that had fallen upon them again and they both looked up in their direction to see a man coming at a run.

"Damn," Javert muttered and Cosette almost let out a shocked gasp.

Her Papa never swore, for his part, and she found herself having to swallow a giggle. What would he say if he knew that Javert had done so in her presence? She could imagine his face, him who had always been so careful around her. However, she did share the Inspector's sentiment, since said man was now running towards them.

They should probably get up, she mused, as he was almost upon them. He would be mad enough as it was, but she was not going to do so if Javert stayed on the ground and he seemed not to want to move just yet. Her Papa simply would have to deal. After all, siblings were supposed to band together against their parents, she knew it from what she had observed and read in her precious books. It was good to have one of her own, more than just in talk.

"Cosette!" Valjean exclaimed as he stopped in front of them both and they both looked up at him, Javert wincing slightly as he took in his expression. "You should be home!"

Then he frowned as he took in the scene.

"You both should be," he added to Javert who had, he remembered, promised to wait for him there, one hour from their last encounter.

Javert was very much aware that he had actually lied when he had given the meeting time to Valjean but he couldn't let him think the worse of his daughter. After all, it was both their – Valjean and Javert's – fault if she hadn't been at home.

"Come, now, man, you can't be mad at her for that. Someone has apparently not bothered to leave a note before leaving. Of course, she was going to be worried if she didn't see you come back for a whole day. She was merely looking out for you."

That did surprise Valjean somewhat. Not that Cosette had been worried – and he had the good grace to look sheepish when he was reminded of the way he had left home – but that Javert would defend Cosette like that. Still, it reminded him that she was not the only one who should have been waiting for him.

"Did she convince you to come looking for me? You knew I was going to get home soon," he said, frowning, leaving out for the moment the fact that the man was supposed to take out his handcuffs about now to drive him to the nearest police station.

The silence that fell after this question made him anxious. Javert, who had finally gotten to his feet and helped Cosette do the same, looked down and Valjean saw his daughter bite her lips, as if she knew something. He had almost asked her what it was when he caught her furtive glance behind her, towards the parapet.

The parapet, and the Seine beyond, both of them sitting down as if they had no strength left – as if one of them had no strength left, he amended, as he saw his daughter's grip on the inspector's hand – and understanding washed over him, leaving him cold at the possibility of what could have occurred if his daughter had chosen to stay home instead.

Would he even have known the truth? Would he have learnt it days later, in a newspaper? He couldn't think of that now.

"Javert," he said, his voice blank, his face ashen. "You were never going to come to Rue de l'Homme Armé?"

No matter the tone, it was more a statement than a question but Javert answered anyway.

"No," he admitted, finally meeting Valjean's eyes and he saw the shock and consternation in them. "It seemed the only way."

He wasn't sure how to explain it but it was for Valjean that he had almost done to, to free him from him. He had to understand.

"Why? I told you I would let you arrest me! I would have come willingly!"

Javert ignored Cosette's shocked gasp, letting go of her hand as indignation swept through him. Valjean was never going to understand, was he? He was determined to see him as the enemy, no matter what. Couldn't he see that it wasn't the thought of doing his job that put him in this situation but the thought of a life without him?

"You will never understand, will you? I was never going to arrest you! Never!" he exclaimed finally, all the games he had chosen to play last time and earlier gone, desperation driving him to make his point, to get Valjean to finally see the truth. "Not in Montreuil, not now. I just wanted…"

He stopped. Why tell Valjean that he had wanted to come with him back then. It hardly mattered anymore. It was ridiculous. However, Valjean was going to make him say it whether he wanted it or not, apparently.

"You just wanted…?" he asked, not daring to believe it himself, seeing only one way this sentence could end and berating himself for having assumed, ten years ago, that he knew Javert's mind more than he actually did.

"To come with you," Javert said, admitting it out loud for the very first time.

He let out a strangled laugh, as if he couldn't believe that he had been ready to do such a thing at the time.

"I would have left everything behind and followed you."

Valjean closed his eyes briefly. All these years on the run, away from someone he had cared very much about, and for absolutely nothing more than a misunderstanding. It was awful to imagine but, right now, the past didn't really matter. What mattered was the present, the future. What mattered was to make sure Javert knew he had a future and that what Cosette had prevented tonight would never happen again.

"I'm sorry," he still said because it was the least he could do, the least he could say, even if it changed nothing.

"Papa," Cosette intervened and Valjean almost startled, before preparing himself for the onslaught of questions that his and Javert's interaction about a potential arrest would have engendered.

Cosette did have questions, hundreds of them it seemed to her, but she knew it was not the right moment for this. She was insanely curious, but she was too much of a caring soul to ask them now, when she knew both men were tired beyond belief.

"Cosette, I…" Valjean begun before being cut off.

"We should take Javert home, now," she said with a small smile, surprising him and making him so very proud to be her father. "You are both very tired, I'm sure that everything you probably have to say to each other can wait for tomorrow, after you have had a good night of sleep."

She turned her caring smile towards Javert and put a delicate hand on his arm.

"You are coming with us," she said and, while her voice was soft and almost inquiring, there was no doubt it was an order he had no choice but to follow. "We have a room for you."

She turned to her father, as if daring him to contradict her but Valjean had absolutely no intention of doing so for, if she hadn't done it already, he would have been the one inviting him.

"Of course Javert is coming with us," Valjean said and Javert protested, not really the fact that he would apparently be kidnapped, but that they kept on talking about him as if he wasn't there. "Come, we all need to get out of our wet clothes before we catch our death."

And with that, Javert found himself dragged to their home, Cosette handing from his arm and Valjean keeping a hand on his back, as if afraid he would suddenly decide to run back to the Pont-au-Change to finish what he had planned to do earlier. There was no way he would, though, mostly because he just wanted to stop walking completely and simply sleep. He was too tired for anything else, even another suicide attempt.

If asked later on, Javert would have found himself unable to recount the minutiae of how he had walked to Rue de l'Homme Armé, changed from his clothes to a sleepwear borrowed from Valjean, eaten something since apparently it was extremely important that he did, drank some tea in the hope it would prevent the rain from getting him sick, and then gone to bed.

He vaguely remembered that Valjean had led him, as he was almost sleepwalking, to the bedroom they had gone from calling a spare room to his own room, had drawn back the covers to let him get in and then put them back on, making sure they were well-tucked beneath his chin, even though it was summer, and kissed his forehead telling him goodnight.

Had he been more awake, more conscious of his surrounding, he probably would have made at the very least a token attempt at protesting, no matter how good it had felt to have someone taking care of him for once, but he had let himself been tucked in like a child without a single word of protestation. He feared his apathy may have worried Valjean.

He didn't have any time to think about it, though, as he fell asleep almost before Valjean was out of the room.

He should have known better than to think the nightmares would leave him alone. He hadn't slept at all since the barricade, which meant that as of yet nothing had had the time to come back to haunt him, especially as his mind had been focused elsewhere for the better part of the day. There was no such respite anymore in his dream though.

The faces of the fallen students came back to haunt him, accusing him, blaming him for not having been able to protect them, for failing them, betraying them and, ultimately, causing their downfall. But the accusations weren't the worse. The accusations he could handle and, even in his sleep, he would have been able to deal with them.

The sad looks, not accusing but asking questions, asking why. Those looks that didn't come from the students, who had been there for a cause they all believed in and for which they were prepared to die, but from two lost children, one boy, one girl, both dead for having followed their friends to the slaughter, without any real understanding of what would happen once they were fighting at the barricade, without really understanding the reality of the situation.

Two children with the same smile – when they did smile – he realized. The two children for whom he had grieved, he realized, in a more concrete way than simply feeling the pang of sadness from the loss of young lives that most of the rebels had elicited.

He woke up, the imagine of a pair of shining young eyes, so sad, engraved on his retina long after the rest of the dream had faded away, a sob caught in his throat. He kept his eyes closed, trying in a way to keep the image from disappearing completely, refusing to let go of the ghosts that haunted him, still trying to regulate his breathing and calming his heartbeat.

It took a hand closing in on his arm for him to realize he wasn't alone anymore and he opened his eyes, searching the obscurity that only the moonlight broke, to find two figures. Both Valjean and Cosette were there.

He must have cried out in his sleep, or at least made some kind of sound, to attract them there and he found himself blushing, thankful that, at least, they wouldn't be able to see it in the current situation.

"Sorry," he muttered, feeling bad for having woken them up when they needed the sleep as much as he did, if not more in Valjean's case. "You can go back to sleep. I'm alright."

He wasn't alright, not by a long shot, however that didn't mean he had to tell them that. He was hardly a child who needed to be coddled and one person awake in the house at this ungodly hour was more than enough. They didn't have to both stay in his room. Apparently, though, he wasn't the only one who followed that reasoning.

"No," Cosette said firmly, sitting down on the side of the bed as he himself sat up against the headboard, not wanting to stay lying down and looking up at his two visitors. "No one should be alone after a nightmare."

She brushed her hand on his cheeks, under his eyes, and he realized that he must have actually shed tears in his sleep. Would this humiliation ever end?

"Was it the barricade?" Valjean asked, sitting on the side his daughter hadn't claimed, in a soft but still firm voice, knowing Javert would hardly thank him for using kid's gloves with him.

Happy to have something more concrete to focus on and maybe talk about the content of the dream instead of his reaction and feeling to it, what he felt in response towards the images, as would probably be the case with Cosette, he answered.

"Yes," he said plainly and succinctly.

"I left early, with Marius," Valjean said, as if Javert wasn't plainly aware of it and, apparently, Cosette and her father had talked some after he had gone to bed because she didn't interrupt immediately to take news from the boy. "How did it end?"

Valjean almost feared to ask, because he was certain that Javert's nightmare wasn't about being tied up in the Café. He had been way too calm about the whole ordeal, as if it hadn't touched him, and if he had been ready to die, it was probably not his own fate that he dreamed about. That meant the fight hadn't gone well.

"All dead," Javert said curtly. "You, Pontmercy and me are the only ones who made it out."

Valjean had already guessed that much, but hearing it said so matter-of-factly was painful, especially considering how young they all were. He lowered his head and moved his lips in a silent prayer, a few words for their lost souls.

Cosette didn't dare say a word. What did she know of these things? She couldn't imagine what it must have been like at the barricade. She found that she didn't want to try to imagine, lest she imagined Marius dying in the middle of it. She couldn't be able to bear it. She startled at Javert's snort.

"It's the girl that got to me first," he admitted derisorily. "Thénardier's girl, Eponine. Saved Pontmercy's life by taking a bullet for him."

He had ignored the twin startled look when he had pronounced the name of Thénardier, knowing they both knew exactly who he was, even if he wasn't certain about how much Cosette remembered from her early life, before Valjean.

"I remember her," Cosette said softly. "When we were children. I didn't tell Marius when he told me Eponine was the one who found me for him. I can't believe she's gone. I thought I would have time to get to know her again. She was Marius' friend."

She had tears in her eyes and Javert almost cursed himself for causing them but Valjean, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking, simply shook his head. No, Cosette had to know what had happened to the people she knew. She would have known at one point or another anyway. If Eponine was a friend of Marius, then her name would surely come up in the conversation one day.

"It was before I arrived," Valjean stated as he didn't remember seeing her there and he would certainly have remembered a girl fighting among all the boys.

Javert nodded.

"And the child," he continued, wanting to exorcize the ghosts by talking about them. "Gavroche, the little _gamin,_ I don't even know how it happened. I just saw his body with the rest of the revolutionaries."

That was the worst of all, not knowing exactly what had happened to the little one. Was it something he could have prevented if he had been there? Or would it have ended the same way anyway?

"Some boys talked about how long on munitions they were. They didn't realize he could hear them. He went over the barricade to pick some from the dead. The soldiers shoot him. He didn't… he didn't suffer, it was very quick."

Valjean could tell him that, as he had been there. He had carried the body of the child inside the Café. Javert nodded at him, a silent thank you for answering this question, even if it must have been difficult.

"How old was he?" Cosette whispered, for he must have been younger, seeing the way they talked about him, as if he wasn't one of the students.

"About ten," Javert answered, not knowing the exact number but that seemed about right.

Ten? Cosette couldn't imagine a ten years-old child being killed by soldiers. How much of a threat was he that they had to do something like that? A sob caught in her throat and she tried to stifle it, not wanting the others to hear, not wanting them to stop talking for her sake.

They still heard, though, but they had finished speaking anyway. There was nothing left to say, nothing at all.

"I'll be fine," Javert repeated, hoping that now that they knew everything, they would believe him and get back to bed.

He even felt he would probably be able to find sleep once again now. Apparently, they felt the same way as they both said their goodbye once again and left him alone. Hoping that he had been right, he closed his eyes and let himself fall into Morpheus' embrace once again.

No more dreams disturbed his night.


	21. Book V: Cosette Chapter III

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter III**

Javert had stayed with Valjean and Cosette for a few weeks, taking the time to recover both physically and mentally. Thankfully, once he had gotten up the next day – so very late for him – he had felt better. While he wouldn't have said he was a hundred percent content, he most certainly didn't feel like jumping from a bridge anymore. He couldn't believe what he had nearly done. Once he was able to think clearly again, his mind not jumbled by the lack of sleep anymore, it had seemed like a complete and utter overreraction.

He had thanked Cosette profusely for her stubbornness in making him come down from that damned parapet.

It hadn't been easy, settling back into Valjean's life, especially when it was not just the two of them anymore. Things had been slightly tense, though. Javert had spent a good part of the time worrying about saying or doing something wrong, something that would spook Valjean. Just because he had now informed him about the truth of his intention, it couldn't erase eight years of looking over his shoulder.

Valjean hadn't been much better. Javert's near suicide had apparently shaken him pretty badly. Especially considering he couldn't help feeling responsible for it and guilty not to have noticed how badly Javert had been feeling when he had talked to him the last time before the Pont-au-Change. All in all, it made for a very awkward cohabitation.

Valjean's absolute refusal of telling Cosette the truth about his past hadn't helped at all. Javert wasn't sure how he had explained their little slip of the tongue about a possible arrest, but he had most certainly not told the truth. Javert thought it foolish, but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything. He supposed, considering the amount of questions Valjean should have had to answer, he was lucky the young woman's attention had been directed mostly elsewhere.

After everything had settled down at home, when she had felt that they had all rested enough and the most urgent matters had been answered, she had immediately asked about Marius.

Javert had snorted as Valjean had tried to pretend as if he had simply heard about the fate of Pontmercy, as if someone had told him what had happened to the boy, predictably refusing to take responsibility for his good deed. It would probably have worked better if Cosette hadn't already known the truth.

Valjean had looked alarmed when Cosette had cut him from his apparently well-rehearsed speech, telling him that Javert had already told him that he had been carrying Marius home from the barricade when she had been out looking for him. Javert had answered to the glare by simply raising an eyebrow, refusing to feel guilty.

While the inspector hadn't cared much about Pontmercy, he had still listened to the news and he had been less surprised than he should have been by the fact that the boy was supposed to make a full and complete recovery. Cosette had been delighted to learn about it and had begged her father almost immediately to take her to visit.

Valjean had still made her wait for a few days, mostly to be sure the boy would be a bit more awake when she happened to be there. He had been afraid of how much it would have traumatized her to see him lifeless. Javert, for his part, thought that Valjean was underestimating his daughter. Once again, though, it wasn't his place to judge.

That had been a few weeks ago now – Marius should be almost on his feet, Cosette probably already thinking about a wedding party if things had continued to evolve the way it had been going – and Javert was on his way back to Paris, having been away from the city for way too long now.

Valjean had been worried when Javert had told him he had something very important to take care of outside the city. Javert supposed he couldn't really blame him all things considered, but he had not relented and had gone on his way, refusing to tell the man what his business was.

He hadn't wanted to give Valjean any false hope, not when he hadn't been sure his plan would work.

Back when he had left, he had known there was a very good chance his journey would be all for nothing. He had known he was taking a hell of a chance, but it was the one and only course of action he could take, to try and make up for what destiny had been up to until now. He knew there was no way to give Valjean back all the years he had lost to Toulon, to this never-ending cavalry, but he could at least make sure the rest of his days would be easier and more peaceful, if he were to succeed in his endeavour.

He had gone to work for a pardon.

It had been a faint hope, only a glimmer, when he had gone on his way but the more he had talked to try and convince the people in charge of the case, the more he had found himself believe there was a real chance. He highlighted Valjean's path, from the moment he had left Toulon to his last known location, which was somewhere in Paris – he had not given the address or the name he was using presently, he refused to do that again, and they had at least pretended to believe him when he pretended not to know these information.

The Prefecture had listened attentively to his exposé and the fact that he, Javert, was vouching for his rightness of life now had been a decisive point. They had not convinced themselves beforehand that they would not change their mind, but had gone into the meeting with a pleasantly open mind and Javert had left the room, giving them the leisure to deliberate by themselves, with a renewed hope that his motion hadn't been in vain.

He had been right. When they had told him their decision, had said that considering everything Valjean had done since breaking his parole – and let's face it the pettiness of the initial offense that had led him to Toulon in the first place – they had agreed that he had paid a harsh enough price for his crime.

Javert left Arras with a written and signed pardon in Valjean's name in his hands, assuring them it would reach his intended destination as soon as possible. It hadn't seemed to surprise them that he would actually know exactly where to deliver it and he found himself relieved they didn't try to make him explain himself.

So now there he was, with an unbelievably happy news to offer to the man who had time and time again helped him, sheltering him. It was good to know that he would finally be able to pay him back in a way, at long last.

He arrived at the house in Rue Plumet, where they had gone back after a few nights, when it became evident that Valjean was not in any danger of being recognized anymore, and knocked on the door. The housekeeper didn't take very long to open to him and Javert could see the relief on her face at seeing him. This was extremely strange.

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur!" she exclaimed. "Thank god! I'm very worried about Monsieur Fauchelevent. You see, he has disappeared without a word!"

Javert's breath caught in his throat, as the situation reminded him so very much of what had happened in Montreuil. He knew, however, it couldn't be the same. Valjean would not do that to him again. He just knew the man would not be that cruel. There must be some kind of explanation and he was going to find it and soon.

"When did you last see him?" he asked her, frowning, trying to work things out.

"A few weeks ago. Just a few days after you left, actually," she answered, thinking back. "He told me to keep coming to take care of the house and the payments always arrived in time, but there is never anyone. Mademoiselle Fauchelement has come by a few times, in the hope some news has arrived, but to no avail and Monsieur Pontmercy, that boy…. This is a bad marriage, I tell you. He doesn't seem to care."

Pontmercy was up and about then, if he had been able to come by. Maybe he was not yet a hundred percent better, but enough to walk some at last. Though why he didn't care, that was the question, when the man had saved his life. He didn't especially think much of the boy, but he still hadn't seemed like someone so callous, especially considering how much Cosette loved the man.

"And where is Mademoiselle Fauchelevent staying in the meantime? I assume Monsieur wouldn't have left her all alone."

The housekeeper shook her head.

"She's staying at Monsieur Gillenormand, with Monsieur Pontmercy," she said and Javert could see she didn't think much of the arrangement, especially for two young people to stay together before being married; considering Mademoiselle Gillenormand's disposition, he didn't think there was any risk of improperty. "Monsieur Fauchelevent stayed a few days alone, going to see her everyday, but then he stopped for two days and disappeared completely. I tell you, these things are linked."

Of course, they were. He was a policeman, he didn't need to be told as much. The question was how exactly they were linked and that was what he was going to find out. And there was only one place he would find the answer he sought.

"Thank you for your help, Madame," he thanked her. "I will go see Mademoiselle Fauchelevent and Monsieur Pontmercy to try and find out what I can."

She said her goodbye, not without asking him to keep her informed, and he was on his way immediately, cursing Valjean for not being where he was supposed to be so he could give him his good news. There was only that man to be so infuriating!

He didn't lose any time before going to Les Filles du Calvaires and he was admitted entrance immediately, asking to see the two young people at once. The butler didn't say a word of protestation, and pried him to wait in the antechamber.

Once Cosette saw him, she flew towards him and caught him in an embrace before he even had time to say anything, not thinking about property in front of her soon-to-be husband, who stopped completely in his track.

"Thank Lord, you're there Javert. I'm so worried about Papa! Have you heard how he has simply disappeared? Papa told Marius he was leaving on a journey faraway but I can't believe he would miss my wedding. Oh, Javert! Please tell me you can find him."

He hugged her back awkwardly. He had gotten somewhat used to Cosette's effusions in the interval he had stayed at her house, but he still didn't really know how to respond to them, especially when they happened in public. You didn't change a habit of a lifetime in the space of a few weeks only.

"Of course, I'm going to find him," Javert reassured her because he hadn't spent a lifetime after the man for giving up now; and it was very easy to see where he had to begin, since apparently, the man had told Pontmercy something about his intention.

"You, what exactly did Val- Monsieur Fauchelevent tell you?"

He turned to Marius and saw him look at him as if he had just seen a ghost. The boy was pale, even more than he should be considering his recent injuries, and Cosette, following his gaze, frowned, worried.

"Marius? Are you feeling alright?"

"I do not understand," the boy said, looking at Javert and, for once in his life, ignoring Cosette. "You're dead."

Javert blinked, ignoring Cosette's dumbfounded 'what?' and looked at Pontmercy with a sustained glare.

"Do I seem dead to you?" he asked rhetorically. "Do not be absurd."

"But Jean Valjean killed you! At the barricade! I remember!"

Obviously the boy didn't remember everything that happened that night, but he would address this later on. For now, there was a very obvious correction, which had to be made.

"Jean Valjean freed me at the barricade, saving my life, when your friends," he said with emphasis on the last few words. "Wanted to kill me. Which, may I add, you didn't seem to object very strongly to at the time."

Marius had the good grace to blush, the enormity of what he had just learnt making its way into his mind, with more effects than Javert could have realized since he didn't know everything yet. Still, he didn't give Marius the time to protest or to apologize, whichever was going to happen, something that didn't really matter to him anyway.

"I assume Valjean has confessed his sins to you," Javert sighed, the boy's use of the man's real name not having been passed over.

He turned to Cosette, seeing her complete incomprehension face to the present subject.

"Valjean is your father's real name," he said briefly. "But do not ask me anymore questions on the subject, please, Cosette. It's not my place to tell you and I refuse to betray your father that way. Not again."

Cosette's questions died on her lips. She wasn't going to put Javert in that position. She may not have known exactly what happened in the past between the two men, still, - neither of them had answered – but she couldn't forget the almost disastrous consequences there had been in the end. No, she wasn't going to put her brother in that position.

He turned back to Marius.

"Knowing Valjean, he only told you enough for you to think the worst of him," he continued. "Which is hardly the whole story because, if you knew the truth, you would know he's a good man. However, there is no time for the whole explanation now and, like I told your bride-to-be, it is not my place to recount it. Now, will you tell me exactly what Valjean told you?"

Marius only nodded. There were still a lot of questions to be answered but seeing Inspector Javert alive, he gathered that if he had been wrong about something as big as that, there was no telling about what else he had been mistaking. He would never forgive himself if something had happened to his future father-in-law because of his own stupidity.

"He told me to tell Cosette he had gone on a journey far away, but I have the impression he was going to stay around," he admitted. "I'm not sure to where he would have gone, but he thought it best to leave Cosette's life. If his past was revealed, he didn't want her disgraced."

If his past was revealed? He knew that Javert was the only person who still remembered who he was, and he knew that he was never going to tell anyone this time around so who would he think would…. Of course, Thénardier.

"Thénardier," he repeated out loud, and Marius startled at the name.

"Thénardier? The man who saved my father's life at Waterloo?"

Javert snorted. That was new to him and, seeing Cosette's grimace, she agreed with him that it sounded pretty improbable.

"I very much doubt it. He's a con man of the worst sort. Your father should know he's not a risk to him anymore," he added to the girl.

"Is he dead?" Cosette asked, not wanting to know what kind of things her father was hiding that could end with Thénardier as a blackmailer, but not really wanting the man dead either.

"No," Javert stated. "However, your father has nothing to fear anymore. He can live his life in the open, without looking over his shoulder. All the hiding in over."

Both Cosette and Marius reacted to that, Cosette with delight at knowing that this way of life, which had weighed her father down so much, was coming to an end, even if she didn't know why, and Marius with understanding. He had obviously terrible misjudged the man.

"Where could he have gone?" he asked, his worry now showing as he knew he wasn't a bad man, and his mind having made the connection that, since there were only three people who had made it out of the barricade and one of them had been away at the time of the final show down, there could be only one person who had saved him.

He had mostly worked it out earlier but he had refused to believe that someone who could murder in cold blood would have saved him. Now that he knew the former wasn't true, it could only mean that the latter was. He had finally someone to thank about saving his life.

Javert frowned, trying to think. Valjean, if he had stayed in Paris, would probably have gone somewhere he knew but where? It wasn't at the Rue Plumet and, if he really wanted to avoid the people he knew, it wouldn't be at Rue de l'Homme Armé either. There must be somewhere else.

"Have you ever lived somewhere else in Paris?" he asked Cosette, as he didn't know everything just yet.

The young woman shook her head.

"No, the only place we stayed before Rue Plumet was the convent."

"The convent?" Javert repeated because, really, Valjean, staying at a convent?

"Yes, with Uncle Fauchelevent. He was the gardener at the convent of Petit-Picpus."

Javert almost snorted. He should have known. He had disappeared around this zone and the convent was the only place he hadn't searched. It was just Valjean's luck that he would fly straight into the arms of a man he had saved before.

"And would he be welcomed back there?" he asked, as he knew it was an all-woman convent.

Cosette seemed to think about it before nodding.

"Yes, I think so. I think they would make an exception for him. You think he went there? But why would he…"

To die, Javert didn't say out loud. Because, without Cosette, he had nothing left to live for. He shouldn't have left before the wedding. He should have realized the man was absolutely not fine with the way things had gone up to then. If he had thought about it, if he had been there, he would have been able to make sure something like that didn't happen. Maybe he should have told Valjean about what he had gone to do. Maybe the man would have had faith and wouldn't have gone to such lengths to save Cosette from his past.

"We have to go now!" Cosette exclaimed and Marius nodded his consent.

Javert was also very much aware of the urgency of the matter. He simply hoped they wouldn't arrive too late. It would be such a waste, such a terrible fate, if Valjean were to die of a broken heart before he had time to enjoy his last years of freedom.

With no time to waste, barely managing to tell Monsieur Gillenormand they were leaving with Inspector Javert – so that property would be satisfied – they took the first carriage they were able to find in direction of the convent of Petit-Picpus, all three of them hoping they would arrive in time to save the man from himself.


	22. Book V: Cosette Chapter IV

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Chapter IV**

The nuns were very obviously not happy to see two men coming to their door, wanting to get in, but they immediately recognized Cosette as the child who had spent so long among them, and who was the daughter of the man they had granted sanctuary.

One look at the pleading expression on her face and they could see that what they had thought about her abandoning the man as he aged had been absolutely wrong. Her presence there proved that and would probably help him get better instead of letting himself die. They didn't know what had happened, but they knew he needed her if he wanted to get better, as they had hardly ever seen a more devoted father in all their years.

Cosette pleaded for entrance for the two men as well and, while they normally wouldn't have agreed, the fact that the visitors wanted to see none of the girls of the convent but another man, they permitted it as long as they promised to go straight to the room he resided in and not to talk to any of the residents. It was a request they immediately agreed to, as both Javert and Marius had zero interest in talking to anyone beside Valjean.

However, the nuns' quick agreement did nothing to reassure Javert, as he was absolutely certain they would have put up more of a fight if the man had been well. It didn't bode well at all. He hoped they hadn't come just in time to see him die.

The three of them ran through the corridor. Javert would have appreciated a more restrained pace, as it was hardly dignified, but Cosette had a mind to get there as quickly as possible, as if the space of a few seconds could have changed everything, and Marius simply followed her. If he wanted to stay with them, he had no choice but imitating them. Besides, he supposed there was hardly anyone who could see him, except for the nuns.

They entered the room the Sister in charge had designed as the one Valjean occupied and Cosette couldn't hold back the gasp of horror. Javert just barely managed to contain his own as he saw the state Valjean was in. Marius simply stared abjectly, paling when he saw the result of these weeks without Cosette on the man. He looked just about ready to expire.

"Papa, papa! I do not understand!" Cosette exclaimed as she kneeled at his feet, looking up to his tired face, realizing he had never before seemed so old, so frail. "Are you alright? Why did you walk away?"

Valjean had startled when he had heard the door open, curious as the Sisters always knocked first and waited for permission, when they actually came to him. Hearing Cosette's voice, seeing her face, was something he hadn't dreamed possible.

"Cosette, my child, am I forgiven now?" he asked, seeing her ashen face as she seemed so frightened.

Marius had come to kneel at Cosette's side, sensing it was the only way the man would meet his gaze. He had to admit his mistake, though, he had to tell Valjean he had been a fool. He may have had his bad sides, but he was honest enough, with himself and others, to admit when he had been wrong.

"It's you who must forgive a thoughtless fool," he said. "Why didn't you tell me you took me from the barricade? Why did you only tell me the bad and not the good? Why did you let me believe you were a killer?"

He hadn't meant to sound accusing and he hoped his words wouldn't be taken this way but seeing Valjean's questioning look, as if he was asking how the boy had been proven wrong in his assumption, Marius looked at Javert who had stayed close to the door, as if he wasn't sure he was needed in this reunion.

Both Marius and Cosette were looking at him now, though, and he knew they were asking for him to come and tell Valjean everything.

"Apparently, my arrival was enough to dissuade Monsieur Pontmercy that you were a murderer, as you hadn't felt the need to tell them you had not, in fact, executed me. I'm afraid I must have given the boy a fright."

He didn't care if Marius didn't like his attempt at humour as Valjean turned his head towards him, the spark that had ignited in his eyes at seeing Cosette brightening some more when he saw the other person he cared for appear suddenly.

"You came back," he said, hoarsely and Javert had to swallow.

"Of course, I came back, you fool!" he exclaimed. "I told you I had something to do, I never intended to stay away!"

He couldn't believe he was hearing this. Valjean was the one who ran away from him, not the other way around. Why the hell would he do so now as his wish had finally been answered? Even Cosette seemed baffled by the assumption.

"Papa! How could you believe Javert would stay away! He's family!"

"I..."

Valjean had nothing to say. It appeared he had been wrong about a lot of things. However, what he had told to Marius still stood and he feared the boy's unwillingness to keep him away from his daughter would cause some wrong to her, some wrong he couldn't bear to cause her.

"Cosette... You must stay away. I told Marius why..."

"You told me half truths!" the young man exclaimed. "I would never have agreed to that if you had told me everything!"

Valjean frowned and was going to demand some explanations. However, before he could, Javert interrupted him.

"Besides, the so-called reasons you had to stay away are not there anymore. Maybe if you had waited for my return before playing the martyr, I could have told you this."

"Javert?" Valjean asked. "You more than anyone should know these reasons will always be there."

"No," he said plainly before throwing a letter into his lap. "Maybe you should take a look at this, before continuing with this madness."

Valjean looked at the letter, then at the expecting eyes from his three visitors – even Cosette's who still didn't know what was inside – but made no move, not believing there could be a single thing that could change the situation.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Javert prompted. "Open it and read it!"

More to appease Javert than for any curiosity on his part, his apathy having come back as he had to tell Cosette to stay away from him, when he had been so close to have her again, he opened the letter and began reading. He had to stop in the middle of it, as he had simply let the words wash over him without trying to catch their meaning, and begin again once he began understanding. He read it attentively this time around, his breath catching in his throat, unable to believe it.

His hands were shaking. His breath was short and quick. This was impossible. And yet the words were there, as were the signatures that made it official. He looked up to Javert with tears in his eyes, threatening to fall and Cosette, seeing it, made a little sound of distress in the back of her throat.

"How?" was the only words that managed to pass through his lips. "I don't... is that really?"

He couldn't finish one sentence, so overcome he was by his emotions and Javert took pity upon him.

"It's an official pardon. You are, officially, in the eye of the law, an honest citizen once again. You are no more a criminal than I. And there is no more reason for you to hide... or to abandon your daughter. Your past will have no bearing upon her."

Valjean surged, extending his arms and catching Javert's hand into his, forcing the inspector to take a few steps forwards as the man, as tired as he was, fell back into his chair. However, he still refused to relinquish the grip that was surprisingly tight considering his lack of strength at the moment.

"Thank you," he said in a strangled voice, a weight having been lifted from his chest and feeling already lighted, if not better. "Thank you so much. I can never repay you for that."

"You don't need to repay me!" Javert exclaimed, almost insulted by the thought. "It was only just. But if you really want to repay me, then stop this nonsense and go back to Rue Plumet with me, let your daughter visit you until you're well enough to visit her and just get better."

Valjean thought it was hardly a fair reward for what Javert had done but if that was the man's only wish, then he could only honour it. Besides, he was right, with this pardon in his hand, he was once again a respectable citizen and Cosette's reputation could not suffer because of him. The gift was almost too good to be truth.

"I'll ask the Sister to prepare a meal for you," Cosette said suddenly. "So you can get back some of your strength. And I will stay at Rue Plumet with you and Javert to make sure you recover completely."

She trailed off with an apologizing look at Marius, knowing she was abandoning him, but he simply shook his head to tell her it was nothing. He was most certainly of the opinion that her place was at her father's side until, at least, he was better. And once the wedding was over, they could make a room for him, as his place would be there, with them. They would probably have to do the same for Javert, though, he mused, thinking about all he had learnt up to now from their dynamics.

"Of course, you will. I will make your excuse to my grandfather and explain the situation. I'm sure he will understand. And I will make sure to visit, as I hope you recover quickly."

Cosette smiled her thanks and left the room for barely a minute, simply to command the meal before coming back.

"Papa," she began, sombrely, knowing it was perhaps not the best time, but thinking that things had gone too far now to now ask anymore. "I know you wish for me to stay ignorant of your past but you nearly died because you wanted to keep the secret and I don't wish for anything like that to happen ever again. I need to know the truth and Marius needs to know the entire truth and not just what you told him. If we all want to be a family, you need to be honest with us. I am not a child anymore and there is nothing you can say that will change my feeling for you."

Valjean looked at her and thought back to the promise he had made, the promise that she would never know the truth, that she would never be put in a position to have to choose between the world and him. However, even if he told her the truth, she would have to choose and she was right. He did owe her that much.

Nodding, he looked at her seriously.

"You are right, Cosette. You deserve the truth of who I am and who your mother was," he added because he also knew it was something she had wanted to know for a while and that he had never been capable of talking about. "There is a lot of your past that will be revealed, also."

He had said the last part looking at Javert, knowing that if Cosette wanted to know the entire truth, a lot about him would have to be told also but, as much as Javert had respected his wish to keep silent until now, he would do the same for him.

Javert simply nodded.

"Then it seems that both of us will be confessing our sins today," Javert said, attesting that he was ready to tell Cosette and Marius about him also. "But let us wait until your meal is here. We shouldn't take the risk to be overheard."

It wouldn't have mattered much in the grand scheme of things. However, he wasn't comfortable with perfect strangers knowing their history. It was already a near thing with Marius, but a nun that he didn't know from Adam, no.

All three others nodded their agreement and Cosette, the only one who could really get around in the convent without incurring the rage of the Sisters in charge, went to get them some chairs as Valjean's room hadn't been made for four.

Soon enough, they were all sitting and Valjean was becoming somewhat embarrassed to be the focus of their gaze as he was eating. Well, as he was trying to eat but Cosette had to help him somewhat, his strength unfortunately not having come back as quickly as his spirits. He would have to have some good meals and some good night of sleep before he was back to his former self. Marius and Javert turned their gaze to give him the illusion of privacy.

Once the meal was done, there was nothing more left to do to delay the inevitable. To Cosette, he turned.

"I am going to tell you everything but if at any point you wish for me to stop, I will understand. It is not a pretty story."

"I know," Cosette cut because she did, she had guessed a long time ago. "But it's your story and I want to know it. It's my heritage, even if you're not my father by blood. You are the only father I've ever known and the only I would ever want. I want to know everything that made you who you are."

Marius didn't say a word. He knew there was no real reason for him to listen to everything. Valjean could have asked him to leave the room and then told him an abbreviated version. He wasn't family, not yet, and he had treated him horribly. He felt honoured to be permitted to listen, he wasn't going to interrupt.

Cosette wasn't finished, though.

"And I also want to know about you," she said turning to Javert and smiling to him. "More than just the abbreviated version, suitable for a child, that Papa told me. Now, Marius and I are going to listen and you are going to talk."

There was no mistaking the order for a request and so Valjean began his tale.

"I was twenty-five years old when I was sentenced to five years in Toulon prison for having stolen some bread, for my nephews," he began and Cosette already had to make herself violence to not show her disapproval to the harshness of the sentence. "However, I tried to escape several times during my stay and time was added to the sentence every time. I spent nineteen years there in total."

A sob caught in Cosette's throat. Nineteen years in jail for so small a crime? All the best years of her father's life gone for nothing.

"This is where Javert and I first met."

"I was a guard in Toulon," Javert précised. "I'm afraid my opinion of your father at that time was hardly a good one. My opinion of anyone who chose to break the law, no matter the reason or the way, was abysmal."

"Javert was the fairer guard there was," Valjean cut, defending him even now, even as he was then. "He never abused his authority unlike the other guards. Besides he has more reason than most to distrust prisoners."

Javert glared slightly but he had agreed to a total truth.

"Both my parents were jailbirds and I was born inside a jail," he admitted. "I have known the kind of people who spent their life there and I fear I learnt to see the world in black and white."

"It was a long time ago, though, and things have changed since then," Valjean cut again. "But to come back to the story. I left Toulon after nineteen years but I was full of hate by then. I stole from a saint man who had given me shelter when everyone else scorned me. I was caught once again but that man, Monseigneur Myriel, saved me by making a gift from what I had stolen. He also gave me two candlesticks."

Cosette gasped.

"The candlesticks you still have everywhere we go!" she exclaimed, forgetting her promise not to talk, when finally something made sense. "I always wondered where they came from. They are so ugly! Hum..."

She blushed at her misstep but Javert snorted and Valjean had a benevolent smile.

"I have not kept them for their aesthetics," he admitted. "But because the Bishop bought my soul for God with this silver and bade me to use it to become an honest man. Which is how I came to be in Montreuil-sur-Mer."

"You were Madeleine!" Marius interrupted, before biting his lips.

"I see you have looked into my past," Valjean said with an amused smile, not angry as it had been his words that had convinced Marius to do so. "Yes, I took the name of Madeleine and became the mayor of the town. And ten years after I left Toulon, it was then that Javert and I crossed path again."

Javert took over to explain his part.

"I was assigned as chief Inspector in Montreuil and therefore worked in tight collaboration with the Mayor. I immediately sensed something about Madeleine, he reminded me too much of Valjean and then, a man got caught under a cart, Monsieur Fauchelevent..."

"Uncle Fauchelevent?" Cosette asked.

Valjean nodded.

"Yes, Cosette. This was the same man and Javert is going to explain why he helped us."

"Your father saved his life by lifting the cart," he said and couldn't help smirking at the awed look he got from the two youngsters. "This strength convinced me I was right but I couldn't say anything without proof. So I waited until I would have proof but something happened before."

Both he and Valjean looked at each other, not sure how to explain the events that followed.

"You have to understand that gypsies have real power," Javert began. "They don't advertise them among strangers, but they do exist and they can do things that would seem impossible. I was sent to send them away from where they had made their camp in Montreuil and they cursed me."

Marius seemed disbelieving but Cosette only looked pensive.

"What did they do?" she asked, curious.

"They made me a child," Javert told her. "I kept my memories but my body became the one of a six-years old. Since I had no clue how to get back to my own body, I took the opportunity to spy on your father, by putting myself in his life."

"This is when you became close, I don't really understand how you came from being suspicious to now..." Cosette admitted. "Especially since now that I know more about the story, you said that you wouldn't have arrested Papa in Montreuil but from what you say now you wanted him arrested?"

It was not an accusation, simply a question and Javert answered.

"While I was pretending to be a child for your father's sake, I realized he was a good man, that my opinion of him was wrong and then I told him the truth and he helped me get back to normal."

Javert quieted down, not knowing how the young woman was going to take the rest.

"This is when I met your mother, Fantine," Valjean said, wanting to get this part over with. "She had been a worker in my factory, but my foreman apparently fired her without me being aware. You were staying at Thenardier's at the time and he was asking more and more money from her for medicine."

He wasn't certain how to phrase things, as he didn't want her to feel responsible for her mother's fate. He underestimated her, though and while she did take Marius' hand in hers for comfort, she took over for her father.

"He asked more and more money under the guise of taking care of me and my mother had no way of knowing it wasn't the truth. She needed to send the money."

Valjean nodded.

"She had turned to... prostitution," he said hesitantly but Cosette didn't react. "She had already sold her hair and her teeth. She didn't know what to do anymore by that time."

"This is when I tried to arrest her," Javert said quickly and Cosette's eyes came upon him, asking him silently why. "She had hit a bourgeois. He had apparently propositioned her when she refused, he threw snow inside her dress. However no one was willing to testify for her and I hadn't seen it, only the injury on the man's face."

Marius nodded, knowing that in a case like this, there was not much a policeman could do.

"Your father intervened and brought her to hospital. I'm afraid I didn't react very well and, in my anger, sent a letter denouncing your father."

Cosette couldn't believe it and she had almost accused him when her father began talking again.

"He was not angry but hurt because I had humiliated him in front of everyone in the street. It had been a bad call on my part. And he only told them he had suspicion, which they didn't believe as a man had been arrested and they thought him to be me. I'm the one who decided to denounce myself for preventing him to be condemned in my place. However, I had made a promise to your mother who died around this time and I fled the law to get you and... you know the rest. I only wish I had listened to what Javert had to say inside of assuming he was going to arrest me."

Javert didn't say anything more, there was nothing to say but to await the judgement that would come from the young woman, who had so much to work through.

Cosette would have to think back about everything that was said to see if she had any more questions but for the moment, she knew she had to reassure the two men in front of her, the two men that had put their hearts on the line, that she still loved them, that nothing had changed for her. They were still her family.

She took one of their hands in each of her own and forced them to look at her before granting them a smile.

"Thank you for trusting me, trusting us with that," she said gently. "Now we can be a family that has no more secret."

With that sentence, the four of them knew that they had sealed their fate. They would be a family, now and forever.


	23. Epilogue

**My thanks to Nurzubesuch who beta-read the story. All errors remaining are mine.**

**Epilogue**

If there is one thing Javert would never have believed nine years ago, before his change of heart, it was that he would one day be dancing with a bride at her wedding. But there he was, Cosette in his arms, after she had literally dragged him to the dance floor. She had finally taken pity on her poor father who had wanted to be back to his little corner, still not very comfortable with public occasions like this.

Javert was hardly a good dancer but Cosette was good enough for two and, maybe she had some practice with her father, but she was able to avoid having her toes bruised by him. It was more tolerable than he would have thought, though, mostly because the young woman simply radiated happiness.

Of course, the day had gone exactly as she could have dreamed it. The ceremony had been beautiful, or so he thought because he didn't exactly have any experience. However it seemed that the young women present in the ballroom seemed to think so from what he had heard Furthermore she had been absolutely delighted that, thanks to Valjean's new status as a free man, he could sign his own name on the wedding papers. She had taken his name, before changing to Pontmercy, something she had asked for and had brought tears to the man's eyes.

The ballroom, in Monsieur Gillenormand's house, was absoluetely delighted and all the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves, including Marius who was now talking to his grandfather since his new wife was dancing first with her father and then with the man she called a brother.

There was no real words exchanged during the dance between Javert and Cosette but no words were needed. They had had all the occasions in the world to talk while they had been taking care of Valjean during the months leading to the wedding (again, you can start another sentence) and they were now at peace with how their destiny had entwined long before the first meeting between the two of them, at the Pont-au-Change.

Finally, the dance ended and Javert relinquished his hold on the young woman to lead her back to her husband, as they would now be closing the dance and the guests would begin leaving soon after.

The two newlyweds went to the middle of the room, all the guests making way to the table around to observe them as a slow rhythm began to play in the orchestra. Javert joined Valjean at an isolated table.

"It's a beautiful ceremony," Valjean said and Javert simply nodded, as he didn't have much to add to that. "Did you enjoy your dance with Cosette? I think there were a few ladies who wanted their turn."

He had an amused smile on his face and Javert made a face.

"I most certainly will not dance with anyone else," Javert said. "I still don't know how Cosette managed to get me to do so."

"She didn't leave you the choice."

"You did not exactly do any better refusing her and yet you hardly seemed more at ease than I," Javert countered, simply wanting to wipe the smile of his face, but knowing it wouldn't work.

He probably wouldn't have done anything that would work.

Both of them stopped talking as they turned their eyes towards the couple dancing closely and yet, as the music continued playing, another air seemed to impregnate the room, a chorus completely different from the one that they should have been hearing, as if coming from far away, from another world.

Both of them stopped listening to the orchestra and opened their ears to these voices, barely noticing Marius doing the same, almost stopping his dance with Cosette, the young woman unable to discern what was attracting her husband's attention away from the moment present.

But she could never hear it, and neither would any other person present in the assembly, only the three men could. Only them could understand the words and their meaning and they realized that there were a lot of people who looked down on this wedding in joy.

_Do you hear the people sing_

_Lost in the valley of the night?_

_It is the music of a people_

_Who are climbing to the light._

_For the wretched of the earth_

_There is a flame that never dies_

_Even the darkest night will end_

_And the sun will rise_

_There will live again in freedom_

_In the garden of the Lord_

_We will walk behind the ploughshare _

_We will put away the swords_

_The chain will be broken_

_And all men will have their reward._

2


End file.
